glow yellow green. glow. glow.

grow.

rough.

rumble.

clear like byzantine bronze viewed through ancient photographs. a million stars giggling like sorority girls with fake IDs.

too many. too much. it hurts just to think of it. it hurts to think at all these days. it hurts to dream.

i've never had a dream, but I knew one. i knew a dream once.

it always began the same way, trekking through a desert plain that was the city, teeming with life. children dancing in colorful concrete murals, locked behind thick steel chain. the disenfranchised warmed steps and stoops. and elderly rasta men dispensed time-honored street wisdom.

it was always the color of dusk. perhaps dusk is the only color I remember. perhaps the only time I saw the city was as we pulled away from it, onto the freeway, just in time to make it for a late sunday dinner.

sundays were always a melancholy time. how much more isolated can you be than surrounded in family?