One Street too Soon

There comes a point you get

to caught up to notice. Forgetting

what used to be—what used to 

be spectacular. I don't want to

forget, but I do. The fact that I 

do makes my skin melt into

a swamp and I glide along the

curb block after block. I'm not 

always alone; you're there too 

sometimes. Yet, even when you're

there you are also a mushy swamp.

When will I become a solid again?

When will we become solid 

again?