Virgil

Dim memories of winter, Too much lost to the chill of time That takes the good But leaves the bad So little is left Of late night talks Many mouths moving in silence Behind the veil of a second, third pint Around a reserved table I wonder what I'm doing there, Like melting butter, Uninteresting, unready, Unsalted, Slowly sliding onto the floor, Through the oily murmur you ask for my thoughts, And, surprisingly, I have them Untethered Unambiguous Another beer [ah-ah] Last call Snow spackled and salted Melted Lost Replaced Spinning reflections Morning's yellow light Day, then night Day, then night Sober, always, too broke for a cab So I drive and you talk Skid through red blinking lights Untethered Soon melted Replaced and repaved Dead leather boots tread in dead city snow Melted Lost Replaced