Walking Into Night

Walking amidst the rhythm of garbage,
an old man selects the boxes of his body,
his home a little nowhere
as lost as every star we've named.

My hand is only this
far from your lips
but you are years away.

I look at the end of us.
I look at the color we painted the winter--
that blue of belonging.
I saw it here on a wrapper,
but now it's gone
as though the moon aborted the sun
and thus shines only of electric Buddhas.

Old man, tonight, take care
of your corrugated coffin.
Take care for the boys I saw
doubled on a bicycle,
riding wild
with the habit of purpose
stitched into their eyes.

They could be evil or they could be gifts.
How to decide from this side of eternity?

I can only half read
the slogans on these walls.
They look marroon,
or maybe umber in this light.

I walk my ignorance
and arrive here
into night.



by jerry gordon
after leaving Spagetti Western closing
4.22.5 / 2.22.6