Talking to myself

 

The setting sun’s golden shapes 

dart about the tiny fiefdom

of a parking lot

where I am talking 

to myself again when 

I should be listening 

to the blades that squeeze 

up through the cracks.

They may have 

important things 

to tell that I should know

like how to stake 

a claim to life 

in this forsaken world.

And though the night and I

just shrugged them off, 

look now how 

I remember them.