From: Broken Feet and Busted Prose

at last
the hugs are all gone
and those precious congratualtions
so duly in order
had spread their wings
float on barroom air
smashed their precocious
little heads of glory
on the nicotine stained reality
of a morning come too quickly

at last
the tears had all dried
and the waves
like nausea for breakfast
crashed their spacious
universal drop of hope

smothered, for pity
tiny beads of sweat
on a life strained face
of an evening gone too far