Roman Holiday

An eternal layover survived on a sidewalk, sleeping on tattered suitcases, cigarette butts to keep me company, layered stiff, soiled clothing to defend from the coolness of a transitional summer night. Contained in a red vessel, a censored conversation recorded forever to occupy a space that many will violate; a recipient relieved by a slight alteration of reality. The hands on a clock can rewind hours, minutes, and seconds to a distant Roman Holiday.


Phone Home

Watch me go by...


One thought on “Roman Holiday

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