That roll played long ago:
The fantasy of streetside hangs,
And easy drunken mornings turned day long
Charades
Of downtown ownage.
.
We had that place.
.
We always had the itch
Of corporate daytime fate,
And sometimes wondered longingly
About those people..
.
But she showed me how to shoot up in the park
And the shadows never turned again.
.
Now I wonder these streets,
Those tenth floor lights,
Of some monster corporate outpost tower:
Why should I cry a tear?
When I missed that place completely
In the fiction that memory so elaborately crafts.
That time
That place: Spent
Wondering elsewhere.
.
Age is just an ability
to revisit old places
With the remembered energy of youth
And that largeness still stretching out
Beyond and back then,
Found.
.
The anger never happened,
The stroll is easy,
And the park is a shady break,
From the early August sun,
Casting its heat across everything
I ever knew.
Shaken Rain 