I can taste the summer

in the sounds.

The look of the heat,

wafting from the concrete.


A sugary smell to the air,

savoring memories past.

Memories of youth

and those that I thought

wouldn’t last.


My hear is sick,

you see.

Nostalgic of the thoughts

that overcome me.


There is a pandemonium

that walks around

these crowed streets.

To this place and that,

grouping and touching,

a human need.


They go without destination,

drifting in life’s streams.

They are carried on the current,

no velocity.


We walk the same lines as those before us,

carving canyons and digging deep.


It’s beautiful though?

The patterns that we make.

The shaping that takes place.


We really are part of some great machine.

But it’s beyond us

and only with us functioning

is it complete.


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