the sound of a cannon
raising its voice in a well lit room
crooned the sleep out of me
till i was abuzz in the same
to clear its vinyl throat
but never shorten the fuse.

while sordid players fell in vain
through acrid walls of smoke
i began to count how blessed i was
but could not get past my thumb.
now all i can think about
is how cautious we've become.

taking a step back or two
to mull in all the damage.

broken window shopper
i swear, i'm just browsing.

those perfect white teeth
burrowed into oblivion
winding down peacefully
on your vivid whim
such senseless dreams
watered down; wasted.

i left you for another
one cheaper though bitter
after all those crucial nights
ducking down congested streets
all the same, i can't get over
how callous i've become.

placing down the hammer
no one needs to know.

dying so humble
why even bother?

post war,
he was the bitter old man
who taught me how to laugh
instead of hate.
my unknowing mentour
coughed.