perhaps it had been threaded with too much booze and bathtub gin to see straight,
I used to be great,
that is what they say about me now,
a has been,
but of what I had been,
I was still not sure,
not at all,
not even in the slightest,
There were countless evenings of sating gowns,
pastels in the Spring,
black and with white furs in the Winter,
There were cloudy notions about my past,
a figuring that the longest relationship I had been in was with nostalgia,
and nothing more,
This changing of the guard that I was looking for,
I did not know if it was rooted in my own discontent,
in my chronic dissatisfaction,
in my reveries of the future,
or,
if it was founded in an unhealthy homesickness,
something that oddly and only plagues the nostalgic nomad,
surely I could once again, outfit all of this,
without smudges this time around,
surely yes---
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