So shriveled, so faded,

the sick sliver o’ a crescent.

All the adults present

pass, minds & eyes straight on the streets ’head.

¿& why shouldn’t they be?

¿What have they up there to see

that they haven’t seen already?

But I keep staring up @ you,

as if ’twere still the 1st time,

e’en though too many nights have gone through

to decline

in the tattered fabric o’ wasted tissue

that only a nobody eye like you can spy.

Quando la gioventù e l’innocenza svaniscono…

sia la notte.

So gray, so thin,

the has-been.