Wrinkles

waxing nostalgic

there’s a black light

on the white

spots of my mind

old faded wrinkles

that push to wake

the waves and rush

of sounds

the ghosts make

hollow and dust

a cold

air of nothingness

in my occupied limbo

where I spot the gaudy dresses

and the painted hair

and the metal lips and ears and septums

something in my heart shifts

like a drink settling

in my stomach

or a glass

when the ice relaxes

and I recline in memory

and before my eyes

the buses pass

and they carry you

and her

and her

and her too

all staring forward

headphones in

not listening

but I do

and the engine spits

and sputters

and a smog sobers my face

to blot me out

and speed you away

to that light dipping

just beyond the treeline