Welcome To Nighthawk

Welcome to Nighthawk

Where silences clings on absence of friendly talk

Where tense stares hang on hands of a neon wall clock

And the hands who hold it are a word from hello

Simple cigarettes begin unfiltered, held by the free hand of desperation 

Residing restitute behind bloodshot eyes, within a quiet conversation

First coffee, and followed by gin, again it's uncomfortable digestion

First gaze upon lightened diner freezes it's motion to stone 

In possibility the lonesome island of a stranger leads a Nighthawk to welcome