October by William Taylor Jr.

the air smells of rain
and is a perfect grey

the sad old buildings
lean against it

a beauty
you would have to see
to understand

today my sadness
is bigger than Jesus
but there is a joy
even in this

a quiet bar on Polk Street
something to drink
and a table by the window

the people seem
to have places
to go

the cars
roll up and down

lights flash
green and red

and I could never find it
in myself
to strive for more than this

never dreaming
to be anything

other than the sky
or the smell of rain.


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Black-Listed Magazine is an online literary magazine. We publish on a rolling basis: weekly, daily, sometimes hourly. Send submissions here: blacklistedmagazine@hotmail.com

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