Nov/Dec 2020 • Vol. XLII No. 6 PoetryNovember 1, 2020 |

These Days

. . . I had not forgotten them  — Jackson Browne I think tonight I should write to you again about the lives we left behind along Old streets we’d thought might carry us into a future Beyond those days that broke like ours so meticulously built upon a tarot deck of random Foreign films & Sleepy John Estes songs & a few vague promises Nobody ever quite believed & I don’t mean to sound cynical I just want to remind you Of the sort of holy innocence once so glorious & unsophisticated & naive it’s now grown irrelevant & obsolete these days —  & no more these days Do I confess to friends how the night breaks to apertures of Lightning as we all seem so content with our individual fates dressing up occasionally In one nostalgia or another & I see again in the face of a friend I’ve known thirty years a cold reflection of that day he suddenly became somebody else: & what followed: The panic on his face as if a hand had reached to grasp his throa

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