Film Noir, now a poem
It's midnight, outside the Student Union,
Raining slightly- or perhaps it's snow.
I'm standing, looking at the streetlights,
Watching the rain pour past them,
The river of chemical orange on the asphault.
I wish I smoked, so I could light a cigarette
And watch the rain for a little while longer.
Too bad. I step out into the rain and walk,
Crossing the empty street of parked cars,
Heading towards the dorms. My mind is empty.
My heart is empty, and it doesn't want to be filled.
When I reach the doors of the dorm, I turn,
Looking back to the street, watching the lonely cars
And still wishing for an excuse for lung cancer.
I have none, so I go inside, never more aware than now
That dormitories are based on prisons.
I'm no Humphrey Bogart, and this is no San Francisco.
But at midnight, even Kirksville can seem like a film noir.
-Film Noir, 2-24-06
Raining slightly- or perhaps it's snow.
I'm standing, looking at the streetlights,
Watching the rain pour past them,
The river of chemical orange on the asphault.
I wish I smoked, so I could light a cigarette
And watch the rain for a little while longer.
Too bad. I step out into the rain and walk,
Crossing the empty street of parked cars,
Heading towards the dorms. My mind is empty.
My heart is empty, and it doesn't want to be filled.
When I reach the doors of the dorm, I turn,
Looking back to the street, watching the lonely cars
And still wishing for an excuse for lung cancer.
I have none, so I go inside, never more aware than now
That dormitories are based on prisons.
I'm no Humphrey Bogart, and this is no San Francisco.
But at midnight, even Kirksville can seem like a film noir.
-Film Noir, 2-24-06