Poem

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.


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