It echoes against the walls.
The tiny siren alarms the unsuspecting.
One long beep.
Then another.
1, 2! 1, 2!
It makes you feel like there is still life beyond our thoughts.
There’s still something alive out there.
I’m not the only one left.
Blaring proof to the future that there was once human life here.

5 trees.
Side by side along the fortress walls of a castle afar.
The castle, it protects us.
It smiles for us.
It holds us here in this cold and shadowed hole.
Where there are cold and shadowed men.
These men have lost their chivalry.
Will I acquire what it takes?
What it takes to make it here.
Over there, across this man made river, sits a silent city of bodies.
The souls that once filled them have seen compassion.
Where is my compassion?
There are no stars out tonight
I’ve never seen a weed grow.

There’s a sense of urgency that floats away when you open the door.
The wonder pours in and fills the room.
An October wind pushes the peace around.
The old lady carries her roses.
I could’ve never told you about it in the morning.
This is California at its best.
This is why they chose this place.
This is why our cities stand tall.
This is why we live here.
Breathe easy.
At night it’s the same.
Almost hollow yet sacred.
Real. It’s real.
And I look up tonight and drink in the cold, the wind.
The white moon fits inside our pockets.
It hides behind the flowing clouds.
I can see it peeking through the branches in the tree.
You know what I see: Leaves dancing in the street to an album beat.

Tonight, I am standing here.
Almost naked on this suburban street.
It feels as if I’ve walked out of the ocean, onto the sand, while the wind mists the few rain drops against my face.
It’s back. We’re back.
I feel the cold against my legs. It’s real.
And the trees say, “Hello,” and remind me of a time.
It’s rare what I feel tonight.
“Welcome home,” they say.
Only to awake to breeze under grey clouds. All I could ever ask for.
Atop this mountain you can’t see far yet.
The mist arrives and the dew nestles on the stained glass windows.
The play comes out and kindness is spread in wealth.
And it only lasts a few moments but comes around just in time.
The music sings a little clearer and softer.
Patience is discovered.
The jackets are back in style, the kisses are warmer.
The street lamps smile and the notes ring on in my head.
I swear the air smells a little sweeter, tastes a little better.
Some might say life is more authentic.
God, I think it’s wired a little differently.
I think I think a lot.
It sees things slightly different than them.
Wants to relish in the past.
The past of first grade classrooms and lunch tables,
Cafeteria lines and chocolate milk.
The ever sustaining accomplishment of being first in the lunch line.
It believes all that is real is fake and all that is fiction is real.
Sincerity lives here.
Innocence lives here.
A tuned in television set to a show of look and feel.
This is the way it should look and feel.
Where have all the good ones gone?
Enchanted classrooms standing in front of a wall covered in vines live here.
Imagination too wild to control that it rarely releases anything.
A first love with Friday winds.
Isn’t it fantastic?
How small you can feel in an open field?
Under an ocean of broken clouds in dim light?
Look how I can move swiftly as they hover still.
The sky tonight is a silhouette in front of the sunlight that bounces off the Moon onto Earth.
Mesmerizing joined with laughter and chaos.
We’re not lucky to witness such greatness.
We’re blessed.
And maybe that should tell me something.
That you don’t mess around with the good ones.
That they bring you peace.
Half of it.
And when the sun falls asleep she will keep you warm.
Like a pillow she will let your head rest gently.
Like the hands of a saint she’ll disarm you.
Forever we will fight with words.
And to describe what I feel you would’ve had to live it.
Like a screenplay night written for a film
You wouldn’t have believed it unless you were there..
You must excuse my eyes, they’re trying not to stare.

We aren’t coming of age.
No, we’re not there yet.
As I come up to the light I turn left to keep right.
I feel as if the lights throughout the airport span for miles.
And that they were put in by the architect artist.
Beautifully positioned like pieces on a chessboard.
The electricity supplies my mind and runs fluidly throughout.
I feel bigger than you but smaller than them.
I will own this once again.
Look. It’s shines with such beauty.
Breathe patience.
Don’t follow paths and you’ll acquire all that you lust
faster than you’ve ever dreamt of.

Early mornings.
5.
We breezed in through and lined up together.
Always looking for the middle of the day.
We danced under trees and watched the cartoon birds lay eggs in nests.
All was loyal in the square.
And the bench where we sat.
Maybe something was to be said of the memory that is left.
The one of the kitchen and milk bottles.
Towards the end we discovered Santa when we noticed the paper peeling.
It would’ve broken your heart.
But Z led it all. She was like nanny.
God, I hope she is well.
All is well.

Doors open and doors close.
The wheels spin at 95
But we’re in the wrong lane
And 100 will surely mean death.
The mirrors fixed on me for I care not what happens behind.
And all the note reads is “Look up Mulholland.”
Ticks run out.
A few hours past due.
You will wake tomorrow late and rude.
The third hour awaits the man of no sleep.
You lack authenticity.
He protects all.
Forgives all.
No need for apology.
The top of the mountain oasis provides a discovery, a peace.
Even just the picture of the future streets and hills.

Look at the date.
Look at the date.
This must be the fate that September brings.

A 360 in sense, but not much of a turn around.
Déjà vu, but not born from dreams.
Will mates be mates and will friends be friends?
I am higher than.
With each creeping day the cup slowly fills with coins.
The water arises.
Black holes open.