Happy Friends To Meet

Winter, fat snowflakes, on a downtown street.

I see young girls who’ve happy friends to meet.

I’ve become the lost angel who must disbelieve.

I know everyone moves on and will always leave.

 

An old movie, a sentimental one that’s hates banks.

I could go in and watch, know every suicide ranks

in the hearts of their friends and loved ones, tonight.

My face is flushed, blushing, my stiff knuckles white.

 

I could walk on, to the hills, to the end of the world.

I could go to a dance hall, women romanced, twirled.

I might stop at the market, get smokes, though I quit.

I could anger God with scribbled blasphemous writ.

 

The public library closed for the night, I walk the park.

A girl kissed me when I was sixteen, left her hot mark.

Dead of winter, the fountain is off, but the snow is still.

I think of love, and curse all hope, as any debtor will.

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