the backwards looking man.

the backwards looking man.  falling down softly into a throw back of wasted time spent dizzy.  and the updraft of disappointment buoys and on the regretful, seen.  somewhere there are signs printed on skin and laughter that doesn't end.  listening in a straight line behind the path he least resisted.  and the stench of her perfume is killing flowers invading the cilia state.  stench hangs in midair too.  the future tapped him on the shoulder but only lower body turned eyes glued on eyes, thoughts zipped in an old army jacket.  how robotically we can all step forward on a moving sidewalk standing on the right letting others walk by pulling luggage.  and his future phone is a window to the past.  and forward thinking cannot escape the event horizon. his care is spaghetti strings.  but his frozen gaze was a mask that aligned sometimes with mine even though he did not blink.  i passed on into other phases, returning only when he seemed happier.