An interlude of reality

When the evening pales on my skin,
On it’s wrinkles, and on it’s sag
And the wind blows down
Fancies and dreams like dry leaves,
That will scuttle through parking lots of city malls,
They had their day.

While moments of achievement have scraped away layers
Of my carefully preserved realness
While we played boyhood truants in late office jousts
While we gave to the Books, in their statutory avariciousness,
Little pieces of our soul
Proudly