The Moon and I #18

I saw a man, maybe in his late thirties,

Standing barefoot at the gas station.

It was midnight and he was

Sorting lottery tickets on top of a flat top trash can,

Alone, except for me lingering there.

Something in me tried to make some metaphor about blind faith but

I forgot what it was I wanted to say.

Sometimes people like that make it hard to make grand statements

When they’re doing something so unbelievably, humanly

Lost to innocence,

Strikingly depressing, terrifyingly attainable.

The images of men lingering in motel rooms long after the night has aged.

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