and the summer that his parents left, greg’s house became the busiest club in south florida,
that bare bones mansion, marble floors & a ceiling high enough to hear the footsteps
as they walked out, or the laughter afterwards. see, there is nothing like filling your home
with the voices of strangers so that you can no longer recognize it as your own.
and there is nothing like a keg or bong to fill the time. or space.
i watched your patio turn into a menagerie of glass, your garage just a fish bowl
of bodies swimming circles. that is to say, we are all picking up our lives in pieces,
only to drop and watch them scatter away again.
for we are all just lost boys finally giving up on finding neverland,
or being left behind, looking for an empty to hide inside of, to find ourselves in,
if not in the bushes by the intracoastal, on the porcelain floor beside a toilet full of things we are trying to rid ourselves of.
see, there’s a difference between the problems of living an