September 2019

Back to Issue 6


By Justin Lowe


like gazing into a kaleidoscope

where all your midnight streets converge


nostalgia, the solipsist’s regret


you can sit here all day in your idling car

under the old tree behind your old friend’s house


the tree itself  has no significance

nor the friend for that matter


he has long moved on

the old house wears the face of a new century


after half an hour

all the ghosts have got bored and drifted off


the fuel gauge is courting empty

but for a moment there


it seemed like one map

had been laid over another


the universe of now

cradled in the world of then


like the mind’s eye in the mirror