The marching parade presses onward
faces, encircling around a beach
up the stairs, down Parkway Avenue
Racing against daylight.
Acrobats, clowns, and elephants one by one,
clothed in flamboyant, aged garments
wrappings, hats, jewels
snickering, and chattering madly
I can't glean if they catch my gaze from afar,
on this curved bike seat
a crooked expression and a toasted
everything bagel, or if they are looking straight through me.
I'm too dull to be in a yellow jumpsuit
I'm too emanated to revisit here
to fly a line, the loud teasing of a
squawking bird reminding me of a primeval time.
Muddled and exhausted, I collapse to
the grains of sand below my toes
and pillow a pile for my head,
resting in the warmth of the sunlight
I sing to my self a song of silence
my mouth, babbling rearwards
wielding every breath and sigh as the
parade keeps winding by.