Converted like a Spring leaf
as the promise of Autumn hushes
like a mushroom cloud over the
terrain of apartment-stride-sidewalks
and sunburnt shoulders
It's feeling like a note you folded
away only to re-open to re-read
The cursive dribble from ghost skulls
about ghost memories you keep in
an ornate jar
Shredded, bruises
Plum colored eyes
plump like trophies after staying
at the gritty hotels
"Open Vacancy" signs perched off
chain links
But the scars are healed now
I'm parked at some wishing well
hoping to mean more to someone
that's headed for Maine tomorrow
I'll miss the wooden ledge under my
hand and the cool air through the
window
Laying on that grey bed
Sheets disheveled as my cowlick
mane
A garden of variety of secret tulips
on hidden balconies
Stretched into a purgatory
unto endless baggage and street
name's
I don't think I have the memory
to remember
Wicker chair over a sort of courtyard
Antiques in white light like
sacrements from a dawn