avenues
There are places that never seem to change
only the measure of paces up old avenues.
There is never a need to adjust my eyes
to the familiar timelessness of adolescent
railroads and blue skies.
Landmarks welcome me like old friends,
But some have vanished like the deceased,
I watch phantoms fill my streets
As I stand on sidewalks.
Memories roll like film
projecting my favorite scenes on
brick buildings.
The kids that sit on benches
And the small town clerks
greet my face with unaccustomed eyes
as I wander like a strolling vapor
peering through faint shop window glass,
appearing to be a novice in strange land
even though,
all of the while,
all of these hidden crossroads
that perplex these avenues
are elaborately strewn across my hand.
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