The Abyss Calls

Crowded street,
its alphabet of echoes
and illiterate thoughts

since I require
a soundless sunset
alcohol will do.

Drinking remains
the choreographed
cornered escape.

A gift wrapped
in questions
unanswered

sought by the
nomad seeking
boundaries or

reminders of
the leisure
that isn't

anything but
a gamble
even as it blurs

the present with
miraculous sidesteps
needing minute logic

only the trapdoors
already there with
perilous springs glistening.