Our Hands Are Tied

I restate the question,
I restate what might be the last words
we ever exchange,
our words which seemed once
electric,
and I challenge truth,
I think anyone who had what
we did
or laughed
like that
could never end
up in such shit like this,
and i restate
that last dangling
question,
the words leaving
my mouth like a car
in reverse,
lurching,
unsure,
but
the words are stale now,
and I recall
Louisville streets, Boston streets,
midnight parades,
sodas, pancakes, rain,
jealousy, kisses,
unfounded fears,
bike crashes that sound like two children
hurled into adulthood,
homeless adulthood, cancerous adulthood,
and these things seem real,
all of these things seem real,
and my words
right now seem like fiction
but
my words right now are real
and what we’ve become is far from what we once were.