hanna abi akl

Purgatory

fighting alley fights

brawling afternoons

lead to sobering evenings

of regret; cold beer brings back

bittersweet odes of lifetimes

when we ran with the hunted

when wars were not raged by men

when church bells did not cover

voices of reason

when money was still spent on

preserving not destroying

drinking on my own

to this past life colored by

an altered reality

my car waits for me

to trudge back to it

after another beating

behind an alley

lips parted in half

bleeding of human remorse

sighing, knowing there's no end

to it all; more suffering

must come before salvation.

Thursday Night

thursday night is a
glass of fine whiskey
sipped while watching the neighbors
clapping on their balconies

thursday night is a
serenade of french music
it is the last drop
of whiskey that hits
like a rolling thundercloud

thursday night is a
stack of unanswered letters
slid under your door

it is the girl drinking her
vin rouge in pink shorts
smiling across the hardwood
as you battle against the
gamble of Whitman
drawing the last line
the last leaf of grass

thursday night is death stalking
watching the last lit lamp light
the last cigarette

it is the cry of corpses
in venice, in lombardy
riding in military
vehicles to nowhere sea

it is the asphalt
still fresh from the last
pedestrian step

the deranged agony of
the ones that have forgotten
to live with themselves.