Beaches

I knew I could never leave, new that, I knew that at least. There was recognition in acknowledgement when it crashed, leaving me there, picking up pieces. I bought a ticket, packed a lunch, called Sheila, played a hunch, lost, same old. Past that stuck lounging in another story searching for solace amidst the sentence. Found something that may have resembled it but the verisimilitude was distracting, more distracting than the same old same old. I was distracted, had been anyway, been there, in distraction, indiscreet. The streets were lined with deep-sea blue lights lit up for the holidays, I think. The pictures in my room were staring at me and I stared back to come up with something neat. There were too many. The bus was coming, I was going, for a ride, downtown, buy some pastis, drink it, ready. To wear my thin-laced slack-tongued sneakers on a trip through hindsight's distorted reapers.