Young Adults

I feel you laughing, Friend, bending winds, knee high in

children. I’m losing ground, dipping a Honda, cruising

through broken lands. Our heritage, my God: tattoos,

baggy pants and ankle knives. I’m somewhere, teary-eyed,

and dipping fountains. I remember so many blunts, and

nights at Lucy’s. How many enchiladas, my Friend—

admiring Seville’s? We toured the ‘Shaw, chased and

movin’, life was magic. Times have vanished, filled with

decades, and dearly sainted. I’m nearly gone, Christ’d out,

from block to block. Something’s in us, my sphinxly

Friend; and something’s dying, a phantom glen.

Days fraught with prescriptions: the loop did us this way;

and I popped a pill a decade and a half ago: still sorting

through it. Thank God—the mystics—ever my life.