Lemon Street

Behind the chipping purple,
hidden in a cinder block–

there’s no cure for blind almond
eyes, the moonless sky, streams…

What do you do when your
energy runs black? The haze

of your labyrinth skin, cover
softer hearts. I can’t be there,

although allure is comforting
and so is escaping to the side

garden, forgetting the man
rolling in the side behind flower

shops. He’s forgotten empty glass,
the passing of metal or light, but we

don’t forget it hurts… At least
the good news is you’re forgetting me.


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