Infection Sublime

Infection Sublime by Odin Roark with his lone return on this New York street in middy’s humid heat he did see shutters closed behind antique glass whose reflection reminded he wasn’t born there only grew up in the embrace of a brownstone haven the oldness now new restoration hipster style closing his eyes he remembered battered front door yapping terrier just inside forever on guard for landlady safety the nightly dash up dark stairs to the 3rd floor evading the heel-nipping four-legged devil incarnate opening his eyes blazing sun reflected back like a searing message “isn’t it time to move on?” he sensed the warning but no one appeared no one stared from behind invisible lace curtains there was no one sidewalk bare street deserted not even the ubiquitous taxi horns no he was alone in Manhattan’s summer heat the kind of thermal suffocation forcing the discomfort of false memories the kind he didn’t need when melancholy’s purity would always walk beside him such was the newly sterilized street the occupants unaware how sublime yesteryear’s infection