Lost Weekend In Brooklyn

You wait by the window for an ounce of redemption
          to stroll by
and you wait and you wait

The sun falls and gets back up again
and you've slept without realizing you'd slept

The bed says that you have
and the chunk of time that's passed

with hope, your head's pulled up by your neck
and your gaze thrown back out the window

Nothing's waiting
Nothing's changed
Nothing is forgotten