certain nights.

The wheels spun, swerved on the asphalt.
streets abandoned at this hour.
even the sidewalks seemed lonely.
once you reach there, it's only sand and swings.

My reality is reduced to the lit end
of the disgusting Jackson.
while I engraved a lotus in the sand.
they walked by drunk, laughing at the
end the end of the world.

We labeled it familial sociality,
in our heads anyway.
bonding.
not so much a formality anymore.
not when the darkness took over.

It's a scary thought,
not knowing the end of the street.
reality seemed like a luxury.
when it was ok to spin in the middle of the street.
The painted white lines seemed friendly.

The lotus went away,
so did the Jackson.
so did the after taste of the indifferent air.
what was left was the reduced reality.
not sufficient enough, I suppose.

Even the trees assumed an embarrassed posture.