I'm not alone.
A lot of people (bless them)
are falling behind.

Behind! behind!
The world's a clever place.
His glances were significant.
I was a dolt, a tardy pupil.

Immaculate boys spliced with twilight
(bounced twice--a 'tender bragged--by satellite).

Everyone wore colorful, loose stripes.

Conventioneers
with plane tickets to the tropics
flowed up and down lit spirals to other tiers.

And he flowed, too:
There were sad alcoves, sudden mirrors.
Somebody said, "I was here three years ago."
Over another drink at another bar, he watched
the whole circuitry of bridges and piers
and minute traffic.

Then somehow it was The End. No credits. The whole
starving audience left. He walked through doors, careened
countless floors and was alone.
Miles off, an airport roared,
freeways were bright and panicked, the whole
city was hollering catastrophe.

It only takes a few blocks
to bare the scaffold.
Years ago: bought, sold.

My mind has gone sing-song another year and now it's late.
Kerouac
as sad as sea freight.

At the end of a pier
in a sudden futility he stood
revolving into a musical solitude.

Derrick's Trip - New Year