You waved before stepping onto the Broadway Limited
Denver held something for you I couldn’t.
Running down my face were all the years we spent
dancing around our ninth inning, game’s over.
Head down I bent into January and all the frigid
nights we spent together hiding from our truth.
Like claws on a chalkboard
bones of our past scrape pavement sore
mistakes, misjudgment, misreading
those dark clouds of regret whistling
Pools of regret stir the witches’ kettle
time never stopped for Macbeth
spots, those damn spots.
We have dropped like so many rocks into this cavern.
Systematically like Lemmings to our deaths
heralded by no particular god
we hold tight to loosely planted trees
only to have their roots of morality dislodged.
What we thought would hold us upright as a billion lights
gives way to the frailties that have all along described us as one.
We are the many different shaded realities shoved aside
for the taxman, the gods of smoke, and kings of a street
aptly named “Wall.”