through rough brick and ivy
along those rusted ribcage tracks
nostalgia comes smearing pockmarked streets
on the thicket of night
a specter of yourself / some sepia murk
caught in streetlamp strobe / on the thicket of night
I notice now that now unlike those sidewalks
new cracks have unraveled your face
a reenactment / a forgotten dance
speech monochromatic / your staggered lapse
the sheen of your eyes diluted on listless tongue
although you don't speak it all I hear is
"it wasn't supposed to be like this"
an archetype fermented / an acceptance born
you tell me you're getting up early
and I lie and say I understand
so you walk away blurring on ashen film strip cement
I think of bicycle wrecks and thin skin gouged out by girls
of laughter smashed into the moon
and kicking November ember leaves
tonight you'll be sung to sleep by a television lullaby
making promises of further disappointments
and monotony to come