Inferno III: The Hanged Man

By | 1 August 2012

The roaches scuttle out from under
old chip packets, kebab wrappers.
One AM on a Sunday; mad as hot
and twice as hell.

I left my voice back at the bar,
hanging in a slur around a friend’s
strange mouth. My tongue cut loose
and danced against my teeth, slipped
up on liquor. I left it there.

And now the street is silent.

Outside an abandoned night spot
the carcass of the New Year dangles
from a silver ball. I wonder
for what crime he hung.

The count-down clock stopped one
to twelve flashes in dreary digital.

Guilty or not
              time’s body swings.

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