spend a year waiting on the next
neon lights and television
coffee mugs of lonely sentiment
watch the people fall like dominoes
drawing exes on the phone
as i stutter through a calling list
of lines that are long-disconnected
but sometimes i have to know
what was not but could have been
watch the cars line up in drunken traffic
as i walk around what might've happened
pulling at the buttons on my coat
leading another ghost back home.
absolutely rockin'

the period at the end is dense. and the flow, with the slight exception of "long-disconnected," is quite good. sometimes reading it, I want the punctuation there, but by the time I get to the end, I don't anymore.

I walk back and forth along an unfamiliar road every day to school. it seems peaceful only because I've walked it so often. there's a bar we usually find at the end of nights at home, and the lights always seem green, the people like dominoes on the nights where three beers cost four bucks. this reminds me of looking out from the white rebarwindows wondering if I could, would I call anyone I miss, and do I miss home. what is this sort of red feeling that comes over me, as if I'm just waiting, and waiting for the pieces to fall into order, for the phone lines to ring again, to feel that purpose, or at least that drive, that I remember feeling before all of this began. or ended. whichever. the ghosts willingly follow, smiling. but they walk behind, not seeing the unsmiling shadow of _____. the disconnected line. as i stutter through a calling list of lines long disconnected. i like that. 'that are' - not so much. that's my critique. and thanks for the thoughtdrift.