a walk in late summer

I step outside. I hear voices singing. I see something I haven’t seen before. I look down. I write about it. I read what I wrote before. Which version of me was that what was the mindset? The passage of time without memory. I’m blind to all I’ve seen. I look up. The trees tell me it’s late summer, and that only the nights are chilled. There are still cars lining streets, and cars are parked in driveways. To each I grant a place to park his v own escape, and it’s free for you to buy. But I am lying, that was a lie, and so is this, that’s all it is. Cleveland looks like the scene of a city pre and post disaster. It’s empty save for sadness. I see it written on walls I see the way the rust bleeds through. I walk on. Off-color paint that covers canvas signatures. Sheets of cement turned to rubble. Ten different ways to get to a place to be alone. I am alone here. I am alone. I hear voices singing. I see cars where they line up at stop signs, still far enough away from toxic fumes. Potted plants digging in, unaware of terra-cotta. Ivy stenciled on a wall that was also painted over. Looking down and seeing water colored from a sewer, I wonder if it’s better to sink or to swim. I wonder what I am missing I wonder what I’ve forgotten and what’s holding me to indecision. The noise. The nonsense. The lack of weight and pressure. I will not be forced first, I will only pull back. I wonder what will happen before I make an exit. I wonder how the end plays out.

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