Apartment-house

Apartment-house
 By Jordan Brooks
Nov. 04, 2016.

My mind
is traveling a-thousand-miles-an-hour
and so is my life,
 finally,
rates that keep me occupied.

I can hide from you,
but eventually I'll be found,
completely hidden, it seems to be not allowed,
so, lately, my writing has been less than profound

Has it gotten so bad,
that I
can never write again:

the college instructor: who abandoned those dreams
when he realized holding onto them was stubborn,
he walked into work to find the students in his class,
seated, and ready to learn, he had become that,

his love for writing, quieted, and substituted,
like an ex-girlfriend,
something not-allowed,

the desire to write,
like a girl you to whom you never spoke:

Back when I was on the bus,
I used to pass the roads that led to you,
then later, on different avenues,
I'd push the button, and stop the bus,
(in some affluent city,) out in California.

 it happened a hundred times.
It is possible: that's something I could never do.


`Jordan Brooks.