nostalgia This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

between the glass 

framed atop the nightstand,

beneath tired neon signs and

streetlights piqued at a sojourning Selene,

dance with my hand.


tote me, 

lens to euphoria, 

along where vision is fogged only by overcast

of cloud nine, and the concept of time's 

abstract as ankle biters on our shins.



everything is black and white 

because the world doesn't waste its light

reflecting on 

what it knows it can never get back.


so it cries,

and you hate umbrellas,

and so do i,

because a child at heart

knows the true fountain of youth.


in this moment today,

i'd be drowning in accusations of lunacy,

but with my other half, 


is just frolicking in the rain.


until it clears the fog away,

as they wish it would with 

my glasses' supposed "rose tint,"

but they're only cleaner,

and the fog is clearer 


so we'll keep going... 

an automatic sliding door'd

forgo the grandeur 

of your announced arrival

theough that bell-strung entrance. 


modern sensors only detect


rendering queens no more.


it all makes sense.


and inside the store...


sitting on the counter:

twenty pennies-

for the thing I'll crave 




i'll go for a milkshake again

when there can be two straws.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback