Poem describes a moment of lost time, moment of alienation, a moment of escape

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I cannot stop
the silent walk of stars
across my forehead
nor see anymore
the faces
under the smoky ceiling
of the Purple Bar.
Island of strange creatures
locked in clonic dance:
anthem of dust souls
seeking their oblivion
on the rust-colored floors of night.
And remorse
like some brooding shadow
clocks the moments
in misspent ecstasy
and scurries on my thoughts:
postscripts to the glass-filled reflections
of some disjointed world
alien to me.
And as these
beating quick minutes
flee swiftly to their hour,
I become stilled
by the approach
of a terrifying knowledge
of streets
gleaming white
in the dawn.

Authors Bio:
Ex-army medic. Atheist. I'm an amateur writer and poet.