THE FLUTTER

I’m back on the blvd. now, with the people that wear their pain. The man coming up over my left shoulder is screaming as he walks. I’m screaming inside. I walked the blvd. for over three years and hardly spoke to anyone, just built the collage. Now some nod with a flutter of recognition. I engage them back, exchanging the liquid prose of pain. Raw. I am one. Alive.