Where did you go? Where has everyone gone?

A field of tall grass and everlasting night. I've been searching and avoiding for so long. I whispered a name into the drainage pipe.

The weekend is one of practice and failure. I failed someone last weekend. Though I've been practicing my whole life. I've been practicing failure. My whole fragmented life.

I've been practicing to hold your hand in a storefront window of mannequins and experimental cinema. I know I'll lose you in the flash and glare of 24-hr supermarkets.

Don't tell me what Saturday morning will do to me. And the closed ticket booth of experimental cinema. And the collapsing steeples of childhood. I'm drinking hard past the thrift shops of Mission Street and the Mexican boutiques. I asked the bus driver for directions to the front porch of your heart. But he didn't know. Neither did anyone at the grocery warehouse. I have a stack of 45's I'm playing while the sun sticks to the treetops. And I wrote a poem on the chalkboard of the physics lab while all the grad students were out getting Thai food. Your name was the title.

And I wish I could meet you at the top of the parking garage when the fog rolls in. Kiss you on the roof of the parking garage when the fog rolls in. Kiss you and hold you with the fog all around us in a night that won't end for years.

Good night, dear imaginary reader.