Coughing Fit Concrete Sonata

Footsteps on the sidewalk.

A cadence through the Denver twilight.

Bats eating moths,

by streetlight.

A candlelit dinner.

The breeze carries hints of marijuana, Krishna and bullshit.

Water tastes like California's spit.

Rambles of roses on spiritualism and Garcia Worship.

Interchangeable archetypes.

Pointless establishments.

a hard, Caulfield look at the phonies….

taking long drags…. on their cosmic cigarettes……… and Colfax.

I’m looking for the last authentic soul

amongst tie-dyed uniformed, flat brim donning

wrap rocking, new-age gangstas, thrift store ninjas,

antiqued yesterdays, cobblestone photographed

spouting Shanti, Namaste, Om

Like scarlet macaws

in a pet store window