Sunday Morning Redemption

Sunday morning redemption... black coffee and cigarettes, the silence that only Sunday brings. the week behind, jumbled and lost. sifting through the news, what needs attention? what cant be helped? where do we turn the wheel and place the blade? whose faces, whose names? an invitation to think, and ghosts that walk beside. the righteous shave and shower, putting on their best. somewhere a street bum asks for a coupla dollars, trying to panhandle breakfast. cleaning the marker by the grave, and talking to no one seen... an empty feeling in my bones, that i just cant seem to shake. sunlight and chill, deep silence; i can almost trace your features with hands that tremble, and cough.