Fear of Nostalgia

GALVIN 45 BRENDA GALVIN FEAR OF NOSTALGIA I take a quick look through the wrong end of memory and the girl who bounced hot, real tears over Camelot's end is still cursing me from my collar's fray to the Andalusian glue leaking from my European shoes. I try again and a wrecking ball swings through one of my addresses, exposing me as I try to make soup from hot water and ketchup, or chase a pigeon around the room between steel passes. Even the wind I pledged allegiance to one summer of no soap led rain to the convertible where I slept like a lawn chair open to the sky. ...