The night is kind of a noiseful quiet

About a walk in my home town

The night is kind of a noiseful quiet,

walking home

the cicadas are singing their songs

and in the distance

I hear the faint echos of the engines of cars

I think about nothing-in-particular,

within myself

I fear the days where this becomes fewer and fewer,

where I join the great routine of rotating with the world

just trying my best to make sense of it all

All I am aware of is the present,

a beautiful day in mid-March

and the subject -

the center of everything,

is just a scared child

with a tentative identity

and a catastrophe for a personality.

Author's Note

Inspired by and alluded to Frank O'Hara

Feel free to criticize