Lethe

tonight, the traffic lights leak red
and reflect up off puddles on the pavement
painting the air up into the evening sky.

big dreams struggle in little cafes;
silky talk leads to broken
promises, and time seems to linger into eternity.

a shining man hangs on the cross-
walk sign blinking in-out in-out

in cold rhythm

to the blues music pouring from
every doorway, loud
like the big bright neon signs glowing “open

7 days." The masses
confess to bartenders
like priests,

like little lifelike dominoes
lined up and set into motion, each
ivory piece falling one by one

feeling the weight of a fruitless
punishment for an ancient sway
in judgment.

I don't remember how I got here,
in this city caught between dreaming
and living, wondering if

these streets have replaced lethe
or the river styx
and charon drives a taxicab now
-1998, -2008