Sunday, February 24, 2013


There are gold flecks in the pavement
and spray paint on my brain
and all of it runs through my eyes like water through a drain.
Green leaves on trees and owl calls
backyards and cars and loud footfalls
the sounds of fate 
a rusty gate
the train tracks to my left in wait
the echoes of the past 
fly through the air like birds on wing
and ghosts of those who wandered here
are there in everything.
the air is warm
the nights are long
but youth, it fades, and soon is gone.