Solitary

Summer's ending.

The loneliness has me
looking in store windows
at mannequins getting married
with mountains of cleavage—

me, smoking in the corner
& feeling my age like a worry rock.

I'm walking through crowds
to feel the shoulders
of a man who resembles
health food & an eagle's wingspan.

Drinking with friends
& spitting psychedelic patterns
across the treetops—

hiding the recognition
that I'll only be touched
with the ache of a snake
I dated as a laughing,
ripped painting.

I kick at the tartly amber leaves—
telling fossilized secrets
to my shoes.

I feel nothing but the loss
of eerie atlases where
I circled homes for the future
that'll never be anything
but a long gone song—

I can't form the words, anymore.

The mannequins kiss like strangers
& I'm nauseated with grief—

staring at my edited life.