Cigarettes & Pens

I know what I’m running from—

Do you?

Holes in the heart:

sponging, pontificating on pointless pictures

of the past, expunging—

I know why I’m running from it

Can you?

Faces in the park, after dark

That menagerie of meaningless montage

of moment— mirage of speaking

I can’t find the answers, only stacks of necklaces break my neck

I can’t find hands to hold, only cigarettes & pens caress my fingers

I know what I’m running from

And I’ll never know why I started