east johnson. in moving and feeling.

the last rites
of frat nights
echo across brick and bare
their spastic souls
onto the transit lines,
churning.

once, you dashed through
powder, white, across
a playground.
you wailed, as i danced
with a lark against the
shoreline.

too many nights spent
pouring myself downhill
from the liquor pits.
trying to dodge train,
traitor and trailer
for some whiskey and stain.

i can’t grasp the wounds
i can’t fade this phase
but those callouses count
on my ignorant gaze,
for just one more summer
of a lakeside haze,
i can’t stay,
i can’t stay,
i’ll obey.