The very place puts toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into every brain
That looks so many fathoms to the sea
And hears it roar beneath.
―Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 4
Silver, emerald, & neon. This time they’re real even as they dissolve & the moist aura that follows them unfolds. You see I know. I’ve been here before, & other places as well. Each as empty as the other. What you bring with you & what you leave behind. When the smoke parted & you descended from the steel palisades I realized you probably were right. All that unrecorded whomp & flutter, the fishhook cigarettes, the bended knees & cracked radiator hoses. It’s just that simple & as long as we’re here we might as well pretend it’s where we were headed all along. No matter where we are I will always be exiled to a soundproof cathedral beach where the tide plays Topsy on a drainpipe & the light is always almost halfway gone.