Introspection

A cd spinning in the player Smoking over coffee, Such a cliche. After all, every good writer smokes And every aged-out emo adolescent Pours over, instead of his guitar, A dark, bitter cup of coffee And here, in this apartment studio Overlooking my dark grey city street void of grass Only cement-cracked weeds, Lies the inspiration Of November. And in early morning The drafter's table, of an artist roommate Makes due as a creating platform While, Watching... The rain streaked window As the raindrops run like silver mercury Down the pane. As these soundproof walls Climbing with music spindles from within Allow a view of th