I am a ghost
witnessing the end
of certain songs
on television screens
in lithe living room scenes.
I am vitriolic in graceful doorways
that always end in oh-hellos
and start with goodbyes.
I want to tell you
that there is a very good reason,
but I can't explain
bits of pictures
painted by tips of fingers.
I am just a
Day at a
Time,
when
this is when you say
when.
I am still amazed
you made it out
alive
and
I am wasting time
because wasting time is an art
on beds,
on a barstool,
on trains,
on her,
on Stanton Street,
on a spark in the dark
that is gone before this poem is...[sounds and songs]...