Where does the music end
and the street noise begin?

A neon lit utopia comes into view
as the gravel crunches beneath you.

You're reducing whole pieces of history to dust.
You are that powerful...

And powerless as you try to catch the swirling
particles-
to put them back together.

Your hand becomes your phone.
You've never been so obsessed
with your hands before,

Even when they were entwined with hers.

Gravel steps soon become
gravel flesh and soon all of you
is reduced to dust.

You keep changing your mantra
as you realize nothing can really be kept-
solid.

Time is reduced to dust.

If you keep looking closer you start
losing track of what you once knew.