Why wander the wind paraded streets
with waxen cheeks and muddied shoes?
Is it for a darker view or...
Are avenues the only thing emptier than arms?
The dusk doesn’t shout, only murmurs
snide *****under its breath over your shoulder
before skulking along on its way, like the people
who stare askance at disheveled button down and tie.
I close my eyes and they roll like thunder
Into the back of my head, to strike
Down the photograph trash, to pop
The balloons of dreams, all hot air.
The sunflowers couldn’t make you smile,
the kind words didn’t make you listen;
you never would have heard my heart shouting.
Nothing I did could make me visible,
more than just a shadow on the street.