steaming smells of broken firecrackers;
Sour from burnt-out fuses.
A little lonely
where the street winds out like a great black bed with no end in sight.
(only, no sleep to be discovered, not here)
My nose crinkles in marginal distaste
(reminds me of uselessness; I live those days still)
And the flavor of this retrospect is stronger than I would have liked.
Everyone's at home, worn out
After these big explosions.
I don't know why I'm walking here,
Alone in this early morning fog.
It's a simple step I take, but the direction is unclear;
And I'm dreaming madly,
Till my eyes grow dizzy
And the haze settles stronger than it really is.
(The optometrist chided me for my failing eyesight
But I think my brain's the problem here.)
I'm walking too blindly to notice the furious roses growing by the roadside
Strong in their October fragrance,
Or to marvel at the way the grass has tufted around the white picket fence, wispy-tendril
My thoughts are too strangled to realize
That the smell of the after-rain mixed
with this special bitterness
is really a beautiful smell.
I'm not kind enough to realize this,
maybe I just have to appreciate the little things, again.