A Seven-Card Stud named Shep Huntleigh

Time

gets shorter every year

Can you feel the overwhelming fear

Of not knowing when you’ll get there

Memories

of what’s lost greying your perfect hair

Walking to a place that makes you feel

You wake up one moment and forget you’re even real

The black of tomorrow

turns into the white

yesterday

from desire we feel to the games we play

Denying the reality that makes us whole

Burning with the fact we’re getting old

Dreams

of love that color the past

Moments

of Varsouviana that aren’t meant to last

Streetcars that facilitate our doom

The light of truth that will forever loom