I have lived along the frayed edges of a practiced distraction

              For what one has lived
              is what otherwise
              deliberate gesture
              taps the heart
              back of an abandoned Shell Station
                                                (signed, Louie Louie)

slipped between shadows that strummed the pavement
when the wind died down & the sky
turned a kind of bleached blonde color
that stained our eyes

                              relayed along the rusty curve of sunset
                              like a convoy of razor-pink flamingos
                              & stolen hubcaps                all gone now like
                                                                                it never happened

        & the wind whispers like wings in a dream
        as a darker, more subdued idea of time
        takes hold, inside