I am looking for ghosts, listening to the pavement, with hopes that I can raise the dead so they can shine again. I am waiting for signs, reading all the faces. There isn’t one I recognize, so why am I surprised?
This town won’t let me forget.
Poison streams and wet dreams, yellow Stingray for escape. I miss the freak walker’s gate. Professor styled and tortured, a beacon for the weak. I miss the bloodied asphalt.
It may have been the sun distorting a tear, but I swear I saw them. I ran to grab a hand that wasn’t there, but I know I saw them. I’ve walked these streets from Locust to Bethlehem all my life, so I know every hiding place. When love forgets, we dissolve like daylight.