on things on hold.

I used to move words with my mind
now I mind when I'm moved by words
thirds and fifths were not intervals
of consumption
and I don't know if I have the gumption
to get back on the train

my game was sick back then.
poems weaving through subway cars
wafting out of bars
people had nightmares
about the fury raining on them a week later.

now I look up old friends
and think about missed chances
about giving away opportunities
about sacrificing skills and time
and dreadlocks
for a place I don't know can save itself.

I look at them with admiration and jealousy
and a twinge of regret
wondering if my best words
have been minced yet.