Blisters

Cut out on my feet –
cigarette burn rounds–
from city streets
that used to greet me
with imitation fireflies
and flights of fancy –
dizzying and glorious.
Now cracking and porous
my heels no longer
enough to support
–me –

Lo, lost, in this city
I knew –
So well –
It’s a hell

from the second you left
familiar became terror
and all I could want
is to escape –
walk away searing
in the heat –
I burn my feet
on the streets
that used to love me.

Nostos + Algos

A place

I felt at home,
and I desire completely
but can’t return to.

Entomologically

nostalgia creeps
into my memories
and into my dreams,
the places you still exist.

Fragmented and illusory.

Definitions don’t define me,
but confuse me, confine me
to torturous exploration of meaning.

We were not sustainable,
you were entertainable,

not by lute or flute
but sing bard sing.

In a cracked voice
we ended Spring
under the blaring Summer.

My ice-cream melted
into the sea
before I could eat,
as it always does.