Sometimes To Disappear

Sometimes to disappear
like Holden Caulfield

crossing a street
through dusk’s descent

on this lightly lit
and nervous city

without a book
by my side or nesting

in my beleaguered lap
I am left go to transpose

a daisied frame
of dimpled

and fallish words

A wrinkle of linking seconds

too antique to recall

sitting me down
dizzy a bit

on age’s breath

So for what will I send
such toyish thoughts forward?

Maybe for no one

as I do love true
the no one’s I know