Midnight, Too Warm for November
The night is humming,
--Murphy stands in the grey-pale light
and nods as I pass his porch.
I take a drag from my cigarette
and tilt my head
to watch the smoke
leak from my mouth,
fill the corners of the air,
lift up to the tapestry sky.
Someone kicks a bottle
and the tinkling
reminds me of rain.
Ashes crumble, die on the curb
and Murphy nods
as I sink into darkness.
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