it’s one of those days
when i feel defeated
by yesterdays that can’t seem to stay buried
beneath memory and literature.
i tried to empty those words,
pour them down city drains
to flow in subterranean depths
but still, they rise with the tide.
so where do all the broken people go,
where do the promises
of those sweet summer hours
take long, restful sleep?
where does the end begin to end?
i’ve torn apart the alphabet,
dirtied my fingernails
trying to find some ancient relief.
still,
bubbles keep blowing and bursting
in the crisp, city air.
autumn is the season of decay after all.
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raging about life in the big city.
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