Balcony That Watches
The railing iron chills my sweating palms
I trade the church for cold and jagged psalms
Below the streetlamp leaks a jaundiced spill
Upon the actors lacking any will
I watch a woman strip behind a shade
Appraising every movement she has made
Her silhouette is just a graphic blur
I feel the distance like a heavy fur
The city pulse is pounding in the mud
While ice is moving through my stagnant blood
I am the lens that never blinks or cries
A witness to a thousand plastic lies
The dawn arrives to bleach the stage of sin
Exposing where the emptiness comes in
I watch the laborers begin their grind
Leaving the wreckage of the night behind
I am the master of the long retreat
The king of every dark and empty street
The balcony is all the world I need
Watching the garden turn into a weed
I’ll pour another shot and wait for night
To kill the remaining of the morning light