Between Shifts; Coffee, Cigarettes, and Parking Lots

[NadCloutier]

the parking lot muse
of neon signs
frigid butterflies
stapled
to concrete sky
with a black tongue of night
of bitter lips
sucked down to its hips
how it keeps the hours
worn so thin
wearing down
the excess ghosts
camel cigarettes
still haunted by the smoke

parking lot you were never more
than an empty page
never more than words without meaning
as you are
as I feel
full of cars
without passengers