How many were there?
Their faces merging and dividing then blurring
like passing trees from the window of a speeding car
my life and the vastness of too many realities
some with burning eyes and open mouths
taking a breath before dying
more staying long on the side of the sharp edge that cuts well deep
what was it they said and did I muffle the important sounds,
with the same old distraction that cluttered every connection?
Where did they all go?
walking in and out of my short sight
They were water dolls that trickled through my fingers
unable to stay
dying on beds and in chairs or falling down stairs
missing them doesn’t seem very relative now
as I coast toward the industrial plain of my common self
I sing the commotion that once moved me along
but now it only splits me down the middle under the impressionable blushing sunset of a life that ends
merging into the traffic of who I will never be
Just like them I will be someone’s blur seen from the window of a speeding car