Clouds in formation

 
 
 
Scale down
Feel the dirt, hard concrete,
wary neighbor’s stare.
 
I walk street-lined forests
parking lots
businesses closed for the night.
Flit by, a ghostly presence.
You never would answer my
Circe-eyed stare, babbling confessions.
Less caricature than urchin hiding
behind the starlit screen.
You were everybody’s dream.
You said:  “We are our own future.”
Everyone believed.
 
Stopping to remember
soot-encrusted steps.
Smoking Marlboro cigarettes.
That core of authenticity.
Out of boredom, nervous waiting,
demon dancing fairy tales,
skittering fancies.
I didn’t know at twenty
any more than I do today.
Overly bright subway lights.
People flashing drawn and green
stop to stop,
popping bursts of bubble-wrap.
Iridescent jellybeans.
Childish prancing.
Seated at this well-worn window,
watching winter unfurl,
reminded of planetary inhibitions.
Starlight only entices, never means to
settle down, to calcify.
Looking backward,
whispers of dust
molecules in migration.
 
There is a viscosity to twilight.
Cut from the core
fruit of neural womb, gestating decades
sluggish, subject to cravings, livid dreams.
Within the secrets of the seed,
occluded aspects of beginnings.
Unfolding
petal by petal.
Sacred in the morning dew,
enticing fragrant fields,
as if myths foretell our lives.
 
The story I tell myself
may as well
be the best I can imagine
after multitudes of imagining.
Clouds focus attention on
divisions of atmosphere.
Fire burns within,
unaffected by sunlight.
.
.
.
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