‘Round Midnight

I couldn’t bear
my own mid    night jazz
mind’s wanderlust
& realized
there were Miles
btw u
s.

Last Station: Still

I had
one chance out of zero,
but spent a youth chasing
what I am still not.

When mind is bent
it must grow & grows
to reach its own heart
& slowly pierce through it.

Then the clock hits midnight
& mourning, she comes to me, sorry
& morning becomes a memory.

But there is still a night to burn through
fueled with rage & nightmares of regrets.

Alexandre Ferrere lives in France. After a Master’s degree in Library Sciences and a Master’s degree in English Literature, he is now working on a PhD on American poetry. His essays and poems appeared or are forthcoming in Beatdom, Empty Mirror, Rust+Moth, 8poems Journal, Riggwelter Press, Barren Magazine, armarolla, Lucent Dreaming and more.