Disaster

It was the conversation over coffee 

Going back and forth over news paper spread 

Black smudges on white intentions 

Rainy day . 

I ask about tomorrow 

This time there is 

No reply . 

The type writer is nervous 

And bends In the sun rise 

I take one last drink 

Before the day starts and ends 

All at the same time . 

So I ask you again . 

No answer. 

The silence is clear 

My mind sits as a heavy crowd in a New York subway 

Yet I seem calm . 

The ink runs dry . 

And realize 

I been talking 

To myself .