We were waiting for a cloud
Of turnaround
I’m in the back of a shop
With no one around
And so I am, killing blind
Those nights of days feel sublime
In this shop full of bottles
I’m dropping coins, mostly pennies
All alone, I walk the aisles
Small glass vials, rows aplenty
Speaking quiet to the ground only
Because it makes me feel less lonely
Small glass vials
Solid white labels
On shelves and in drawers
In tidy stacks on tables
They look so fresh
But feel so old
I see the demons sitting pretty
On the bottoms of the bowls
They seem not to notice
Furrowed down and looking shrewd
Killing faith, granting wishes
For the hopeless and the lewd