waiting

in this corner room
windows closed
doors bolted
a shit-city statistic
nodding
into the half-light
as a worn needle
scrapes over
smoky songs
blown by
the cracked lips
of long dead gods--
drunken stereophonic
dreams mingling
with the smells
of rotting back alley
trash--gnawed at
by fat rats
& starving dogs
too spent to howl
into the un-obligated
electric dusk
of men & volts

waiting--
to confess
the crimes
that have left me here
ready to admit
how at each
crossroads
i chose this way
toward this place--
from light
to dark
note to note
line to space
all taken apart
scrutinized
screamed into

waiting--
for something
to come back
an answer
an explanation
anything
other than the empty
echo of my own
voice
dying away
against the walls
of this tomb
this waiting room

by DB Cox