april's a good month. some association you disavow, but the passage soon ceases midway, and you pick it all up again. whether it's some vice or scar. you pick it up again because denial started the first last month. and it becomes you. you\'re whole again. like spare change in your pocket. and the bus is just up the street.
it happened 3, 4 years ago, this same month. the only difference was we were in a basement, one less. two different. so these bookends up the ante. don't try and scare up any poetic chain throughout though. I prefer: chance coming mercifully through. It\'s been a strange ride. sometimes a lot of head scratching, blank stares. nail biting down to nothing. But then we\'ve loved some and broke bread with strangers. even the first time, there was a wonderfully done up ham. several pies.
and along the way, it seamed as if it was always autumn. the rain at your back. day escaping you. a conversation that floated up to your window. your ally unfamiliar groping tiresome. the truth was the same with the lights on. and the rides. sometimes it took longer to get there from here. flights lost humor. you start tracing everything in chalk.
this last time it was like grand central station. terminal. in this way nothing could beat a full house. new faces made talk a little smoother. there were different pockets now. different settings. and not a word about firsts, or seconds, or some truer than others. sometimes we fancied ourselves a band. revolving door not withstanding. skeleton in closet. and even then we shirked the plan. talking about hometowns instead. I remember. the lights were off. and the fates. I noticed a smile.