Everyone I knew became artists.
This is for you.
We peered out the window before falling asleep
wrapped tight in each others arms
to view the moon full and bright with
burning Mars to her right.
The light reflected through our blinds
and made it hard to sleep.
I thought of many things, people
from my past I used to know
now tucked away in row houses.
I thought of rope swings and powder
factories, now superfund sites,
I thought of arguments and fist
fights. This rain in May once may
have driven me insane to be stuck
inside all summer days, but now
it only inturrupts
the seal-coating of our
The brick roads of college towns
still bleed with scuffed knees
and drunken clowns, but no
familiar faces. The library shelves
sag, with old familiar places and memories.
Still everyone I knew became artists
and live tucked away in Brooklyn
row houses, sowing blouses
or someother trade, without whom I know
I would have no scars which now can fade.
And heal beneath the moon light, reflections
from Mars I close my eyes and whisper-sigh,
“Old forgotten friends, how times do fly.”