I wonder

where the beat car,

where the dangling

night fell away.

where the grass damp against my cheek,

thick as the curls on my head.

 

I wonder where the cold shadow

pitched over my shoulders,

my hands pocketed

back on black

behind the stormy sky.

 

I wonder where the girl

on Linden,

or the other,

or what they might have meant

when they did.

 

I wonder where

the aging motorcycle shop,

the grease and steel,

 

The rusty iron tracks running against

the blues house shaking under the moon.

 

I wonder where the deep dives

in brown water,

bubbles rising

gold.

 

Where

the quick roaring junkie

who slipped like a magazine,

sticky under the bed.