Go Home

The quiet people die together

In the trees beyond the barrier.

Six foot forests that will soon become a wall.

Stuck to corners where a 

Speeding chandelier could end it all,

That sleeping hope,

Lying lower than a deadbeat dad.

The knot of dread 

You feel it coming

In a bullet heading out.

The motor runs too slow 

To make the mirror one way.

Steeped in the moon-bog writhing

In the space behind the eyes

A black tint, the kind myth, 

Denying everything in mind. 

“Just begging for another drink.”

“I saw this one who had a car.”

“What's the point of handing up,

To drag them toward a higher fall?” 

I wonder what it’s like to freeze.

Does it hurt or are they numb?

A rattling so deafening 

That Saint Stability withdraws.

Forget the people on the street.

Forget the way you want to be. 

Stiffen your neck

Keep your eyes forward,

Your lack of pain commands you 

speeding back to sleep.