Friday Noir: The In-Betweens
Dark corners, whispered plans.
Shaking hands with shaking hands.
The impossible planners with decrepit dreams.
In secret lamplight hideouts.
Trying not to let the world break you,
yet that’s all it does.
Day by day. Night by night.
The scratch of the eight ball, the rye that burns the throat.
Out into the night,
Not giving a damn about those in-betweens.
Lightening splits the warm night sky.
I have blood in my eye.
We are our father’s sons.
(c)Mark Krajnak | JerseyStyle Photography | 2016