Standing up straight but like falling through door after door after open cellar door, bodega cashier men who know me only as the sad and lonely two AM bacon egg cheese two bud light guy who seems off but leaves a tip, this trip through new york can't be more than delirium wrapped in tin foil and forgotten dreamscapes. Where are the mountain vistas.
And I feel a bit empty a nd lost not like in the way I was with you, but different... maybe I need a change. Mountains seem large enough to draw back deep into. Be one with earth dust and the non-ceasing land before this. Take enough drugs and be there. Or find someone like you. I don't know if I'm depressed or just alone. Maybe both. Either way I can sense this is just beginning.
I had not forgotten them, those graceful past-life girlfriends, adamant brothers and all others who drift everyplace and throughout squalid brown apartment complexes and the green-neon hotel bar illuminations 'cross the street. When I come back tomorrow these bold avenues should diverge away, be different, memorial ghosts, however, will remain waving, walking hand in hand still into my futures.
Barstool, three legged, wobbling, desperate, clinging to gummy hardwood floors and you're a good friend, and here, eyes down unlocked lips whispering reminding me for a day "don't withdraw." Thanks again for the drinks, gloom only shows face under sunlight, without you offering me confidence. "This will get better."
An emptiness deep in the cracks of my heart where I could feel you still with me beating hard and I took you to my uncle's grandparent's and mother's but it doesn't feel the same not falling in love with you and is it wrong I feel so guilty forgetting about you every so often even when you refuse to call, acknowledge I'm still here, but far, and I miss you more so but it's fading and I how do I move on when this won't really turn to dust float away.
Loved you now for a long long long time. If those brown curls brought me nothing but lavender shampoo clean smell of sweat too I'd be brought to two knees wondering only if these years mean't something to me other than seeing you through myself a glass mirror reflection a past projected and illuminating a life correction and pedaling, moving quickly forward.