Tuesday morning at 4 am

I see a girl standing on the corner, her hair just right, her clothes too tight, her whites too white, an angel, a whore, the girl next door, the gorilla my dreams, the who's that knocking at my door, and I stop and blink, and I try to speak, to ask for the truth, to seek out her truth, she is gone like a flash, like a bump in the night, no essence, no aura, just the sweet smell of creosote as she is sucked through some cosmic hole in the ozone, and there I am, the me of fifty years ago, the me of forty years ago, the me of thirty years ago, the me of twenty years ago, the me of ten years ago, ten months ago, ten weeks ago, ten days ago, ten hours ago, ten minutes ago, ten seconds ago, the me that is the present that is now the past, and every me that will ever be me, and there I am, just left to scratch my head, to sit and wonder, to stand and deliver, my eyes wide open and my mouth agape, and man, isn't that some crazy kind of shit.
Spell check complete.
(No Errors Found)