I wandered out of childhood’s snow dusk streetlights,

Buffalo solo, trying to get lost, looking for some time

some place to escape into.

 Was anything they told us actual?

Was life just a list of tasks and tests?

 Was I just a dart in someone’s game?

Are our truths only what we distained unlearning?

                                       *

Serial lives lived  in the same body, our names

should change as we age, reflecting our progress,

revealing our fuck-ups, the places we had to flee.

The police may have persons of interest,

the church its assertions & predrawn conclusions.

You and I have only our suspicions, a sense of

where the edge should be, where the end begins.