Slip down years where decades hang

like velvet, soft muffling voices setting scenes

and stars speaking unforgettable lines.


This is the magic of the world

that it blends memories of death

with beauty while we sleep


breaking thought into fragments of light

spaces in the cracks imagining the whys

and wherefores of that smashed pose


seeing strange life in art on walls

peering into paint, canvassing opinions

speculating, diving in, seeking


to divine the truth behind styles, strokes

different paths, mapping myriad trails.

Broken thoughts open eyes.


Sometimes I see the flick of a skirt

feel hair trailing in the wind, all versions of me

and the steps I took to reach this heaven.

The End

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