(1) Summer Dresses

It is a season to wander the trackless deserts of emotional bewilderment like a lost tortoise. The dreams of us have been incinerated like unclaimed crime-scene corpses. One hour, you were telling me about the magical sparrows of sunrise and before the day was through, cutting my images out of photographs. I laugh on alienated dingy streets to avoid the drug dealers and prostitutes watching me stagger and weep, though, perhaps, they wouldn't be compassionless to such a defeated man. At intersections, I gaze both ways but, sometimes, I feel, I'll keep standing in place with no power or will to reach a different location. Are you in love with him? Then, I guess, I must be content only seeing the summer dresses that sway on a clothesline or the ones stored away of you that I'll learn to suppress in time.