David Kowalczyk - December

Imagination
running on empty.

A gray breeze
blows cold as sleep.
A black wind
cuts deep as death.

A table of drunks
smash their glasses
against imaginary walls.

The sum of the
dreams slipping through
the holes in my soul.

David Kowalczyk

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/december-19/