When the last of her favorite memories left,
she planted all his secrets in her garden instead.

The unfazed critic contemplated the vacant space.

 He stood there for days & days.

The city lights stretch as far as the eyes could see.
The tall buildings dwarf our bodies.
Instantly making us feel lonely & lost,
& a little afraid of our future.

Inside the bus on the way to our apartment,
I pull out my worn copy of The Great Gatsby;
& wonder if we are thinking the same thoughts
But I remember your bad taste in books,
& laugh to myself.

Then you start to fall asleep, your head falls
on the crook of my shoulder.
I could hear Leonard Cohen's psalms
blasting through your headphones
& remember how we got here.

"It was  not like a flying saucer, more like my grandmother's face nailed backwards."

"Whoaaat?"

"It was not 10 seconds. More like a 3 day vacation at the Bermuda triangle cruise ship."

"You're kidding me right?"

"NO, wait a second... they were not little green men. More like my third grade teacher dressed in a rubber suit."

"Okay, this is getting weird."


"No!... that is not a hole in my head. Definetely not a hole in my head.
more like Spock ears.  Yeah! that's it Spock ears!"


"Whatever man, I'm outta here!"

& whenever they would close their eyes, their hearts would begin to dream.
The music wooed the wounded years, cancelling all their tears and fears.
An unacknowledged truth, it seems: Radios are time-machines.