Train of Thought

Chest wet
from sneezing
twice reminding 
me of electricity 
lighting the neon
signs on the 
way home luminaries over
people chatting at the 
bus stop probably about 
allergies. 

The face behind the 
curtain composed 
of shadowed lightbulbs and 
fig leaves holding onto
summer resembles a simple 
yet mistakable mr. potato head or 
taking into account the full 
panel a female crayon if 
there ever was such a thing.

How long can one stare 
at the same piece of
art on the wall all the 
memories it holds and reflects 
back at me like a 
time capsule bad
trip acid
rain down 
my cheeks
in a dream 
I saw her again 
how not to look back 
the key is not to 
stare.