Going Home

Anarchy symbols on a steamed glass hallway
I thought this was college

He said it was cold
because of the emptiness

or was it the temperature
or both

Seems like home to me
only with less décor

A welcomed change of pace
without looking over my shoulder

Keeping bitter rhythm with the snow
and the howl is not imagined this time

It was worth the trip
In spite of the absent

Worth it because of that really
Because just being isn’t enough

Neither is just being here
It took some doing too

Underground Avenue

These muck lined tunnels
teach a history lesson
that stains my hands.
Spirit dampened

worse than my socks.
Endless incremental sloshes
in slimy darkness.
Blindness is my companion.

If only my nose were blind.
Catching a fish-market fragrance
or fresh worm feces.
Both equally unpleasant.

Enraptured at the cliché up ahead,
my eyes adjust.
Only to be welcomed
by tripping

on acid rain.

Delusional

A back forty blank slate
for imagination
But don’t go past the fence!
Too late…
Ghosts in the graveyard
You can still hear them
Everyone’s army
but no one really died
Hide and seek
The older kids must have cheated
Tree fort raids and
Swinging vines
Explorations
and archaeological digs
Nothing but Indian beads
and arrow heads
How could that be?
We were always cowboys