Thursday, January 26, 2012


London is not calling

It’s these moments

When the bar is near dead

The clock runs down to closing time

And the jukebox sings of regret

I expect him to walk in

Like he always did

Rescuing me from self parody

Lifting me from ignominy

But he never does

Two years after my mistake.

The fates seldom hand you laughter

Let alone singing in the street

I was shortsighted and stupid

Making obelisks out of obstacles

And tithing to a demise

I wouldn’t allow the prerequisite rise.

Forgive me, London.

Forgive me and find me.

I was and am a fool

Petitioning too late

To find a place in your court.

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