Yo Sin Ti
(Me Without You)
By Wayne H.W. Wolfson

I spent a week with a Honduran whore. She made coffee while
     I listened to the soft sobs of Pres's horn.
The minute hand on the clock is broken making us all immortal.
Yo sin ti.
I spend all night alone, crawling the city and talking to myself. Maybe
     I should take that ticket, have them hold the plane.
How many years ago was that? No, there's no one waiting now.
Me without you.
I sleep during the day, I wander aimlessly, singing nocturnes. A faded
     flower pressed between the pages of memory.
A city, kind but only to those with someone or the money
     to get someone.
The song ends, exact change is given back only in the form of a credit.
Yo Sin ti.
I'm buried here, in this city, amongst the crowd.