NO, FALSTAFF
Nothing in between. I was lost, lost like
to the ages. Beneath my feet the subway
growled again, hundred degree heat warming
my toes, frying my brain. No, no Falstaff, it was
never meant to be this way. Once I realized the
misapprehension was all my own, it seemed better.
The coasters under the two glasses had wet circles
at which I enjoyed gazing. Outside the window, some
insane Dollar Store collected its rabid people : low, loud,
large, lugubrious, leaning towards cheap luxury. Nothing
and everything, all jumbled up together. Oh, Eight Street dies.
-
Maybe it was meant to be Flagstaff, Arizona instead.
Maybe I just saw the banner which I misread. Like those
photos of missing kids on the milk carton sidesleeves, nothing
is ever what it seems : they're old now, unrecognizable to all,
and the milk cartons themselves have trash-heaped their
passing importance a long time ago. Everything fades.
All those kids have gone home. No, no, Falstaff, no.
Nothing in between. I was lost, lost like
to the ages. Beneath my feet the subway
growled again, hundred degree heat warming
my toes, frying my brain. No, no Falstaff, it was
never meant to be this way. Once I realized the
misapprehension was all my own, it seemed better.
The coasters under the two glasses had wet circles
at which I enjoyed gazing. Outside the window, some
insane Dollar Store collected its rabid people : low, loud,
large, lugubrious, leaning towards cheap luxury. Nothing
and everything, all jumbled up together. Oh, Eight Street dies.
-
Maybe it was meant to be Flagstaff, Arizona instead.
Maybe I just saw the banner which I misread. Like those
photos of missing kids on the milk carton sidesleeves, nothing
is ever what it seems : they're old now, unrecognizable to all,
and the milk cartons themselves have trash-heaped their
passing importance a long time ago. Everything fades.
All those kids have gone home. No, no, Falstaff, no.
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