July 27, 2009


by Kevin M. Hibshman

It is my hometown.
Quaint, as some might say.
Lives here led in quiet desperation end up as charades.
Stepping off the bus, the unshifted atmosphere immediately envelopes one.
I am a chain-smoking alien, somewhat akin to the memory-phantoms
that linger.
I can hardly recall the lives I tried to live here.
Worlds made have fallen out of orbit, do not penetrate upon the present.
I turn, hesitatingly, to smile at a stranger who does not smile back
and then realize-
nothing has really changed.


Deanie said...

I definately Like this. Some times home is where your brought up, sometimes, somehow it changes to where your heart is. When you go back and all the people are gone can be a very disassociating feeling.

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