Sad Horn...
Keith R. Brock

It's like a sad horn that sits in the corner of a dank _____desolate room...
An old worn pea coat covers the past, it lies in the _____shadows
Smoke fills the room finding desperate escape...
It's the loneliness of the downtown...
Burrowed within the walls and the stained floors, a _____soul becomes lost, intertwined,
Pulled from the manhole covers that ride on down _____to the village...
He's like a sad horn that frolics on the train, reading _____a paper with a date from never...
It's the brown bag on the floor of a shop, or in the _____street where the rain pours and drips paint...
An incandescent fixutre breathes to become a _____friend; alas we have found the desperation...
It's the sad horn that speaks to the steam rising _____from the alley at two a.m....
Last breath, it sighs in the wait for someone to _____hear.
This is the life of a sad horn...