walking round and
round the same circle

only seeing neon sign
after neon sign

back again now
at the same crossroads

new city, old city — it’s all
the same, all over again:

every place they go,
the newly displaced

(cross-posted)

to dream here still
before my sigh
fogs up the window

before I fly back
home — to the place
with no epiphanies

but are there any here?
three more nights
to find the fuck out

(cross-posted)

of which one hangs
above — set in stone,
all-knowing, all-looming

just four moons left until
the trees & the streets
all change around me:

I’ll be home, not knowing
what would happen here,
so far far away, this winter

(cross-posted)

will melt it all away:
the exact shapes of
tops of these trees,
laugh lines, crow’s feet,
maps of daily walks

there, on that street, stands
a minute from not so long ago
its wax melting in the sun
visiting hours running out

(prompt)

were packed inside
5 boxes this evening
now it’s only dust
on the cold marble floor:

no book by the bed
no shadow on the wall
no trace left behind
on 27th Main Road at all

(prompt)