Smoke and drink all over there-
the aroma that lingers in my hair…
Moments like this remind you of,
backstreets and passageways,
and olden days.
Shisha at the
ushers smoke through
the open window.
Stumbling through streets
I’m sure I know,
but they seem odd
when I’m on my own.
Athough I always had
a bad sense
I know the difference
between the unfamiliar
and places I’ve been.
Here, the scents and sounds
and smoke, implore that
I’ve been here before.
Shadows walk me through dim alleys,
they have faces that stir memories.
Brown leather jacket and Turkish coffee-
Persian rugs and a butterfly tummy.
Shadows beckon that I follow,
traipse down neurons of my folly.
Cobblestones stretch to disrupt my advances
toward the mist I want to cloud my senses.
My name is spoken up ahead-
finally a voice that clears my head
of smog and smoke of tired nerves,
of all things tragic and absurd.
Sierpień, 2015 Stare Miasto, PL