Secret Knock

The late night becomes the early morning,
and you’re awake on a bench by the bars.
You are watching drunk people
shout nonsense at no one before
painting the sidewalks with their vomit.
The library behind you is dark and empty,
not unlike how it is during the day.
While Granger’s old place is still serving,
lights dimmed and doors locked from the inside.
You are tempted to use the secret knock,
to slip inside and get some light, for the paperback
in your pocket, because all of the street lamps
are broken.
You remember someone telling you that all these roads
are connected.
That even to the most secret of places, you could find a path.
That never seemed true, and now out here in the blue
light that fills the air just before the sun turns it red,
you’re tired enough to converse with the dead.

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