Airless Ghosts

The sun cracks through dirty blinds, crumbs scatter.  

Dogs bark down the street, never knowing why.  

Beer cans roll empty, a tin orchestra groans.  

The roaches claim corners like drunken landlords.  

A man shuffles by, pocket full of rattles.  

The clock laughs louder than my heartbeat.  

Everyone's chasing something, mostly airless ghosts.  

The jukebox hums a dirge no one recognizes.  

The world spins whether you care or not.  

Chalk outlines fade like Sunday prayers forgotten.  

The bartender wipes away yesterday, still sticky.  

We all are waiting for the same train,  

but it’s the arrival that ruins the ride.  

Buildings lean heavy against a tired evening.  

Nothing’s noble here; maybe it never was.  

Things are what they are, how else?