Greene and Barnwell

The leaves don't burn to fire in this state.
They just dry out
And drop exhausted to the streets.

I run along sidewalks
Clotted with the shuffling college kids
And wonder in a silent prayer
Why I'm living here.

I'm always striking
Soggy matches
On eroded strips of phosphorous,
Cardboard bent to worthlessness,
Red rubbed to greying patches.

I've spent too many decades
Wasting wishes on slow-moving airplanes
In the hazy darkness of the city,
But mistaken midnight whispers
Are defiant hopes,
Bone-weary rebellions
To dreary reality.

I'm tired.
I run the walkways.

- 10/13/25

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