Magic is gone. It has left the soul. Went God knows where. Hiding in closets, under beds, pantries; no more. Disappeared. Maybe magic jumped off a building in Midtown Manhattan. Perhaps drowned in the Hudson. I wish it would come back.

An empty, wadded up McDonald’s bag in a trashcan. A few fries in it. Opened packets of ketchup. I haven’t eaten in days. Considered the possibilities.

Cigarette butts burned in ashtrays. It has come to this, I say out loud. A thousand circus clowns pass by on their way to the big top. They cram into a small car and wave goodbye; honking and smiling. Honking and smiling.

These days are best spent under a tree in  Central Park, sleeping, and dreaming. Or at St. Patrick’s praying for a shift in life. A new beginning. Funny, the Protestants believe in being born again; I’ve never felt more dead. 

Autumn will be here soon.