I am back from traveled sadness to
sidewalk sadness,
a quelling storm rises (already
disappearing)
in the morning, there- a
birth of dieing,
a hand tightening around air
the fingers dragged through smoke
to at last see that nothing it touches
life a whiff of its heavy gray Saturday
stroll,
through the Midnight Supermarket,
remember who we were, who I was in that
destroyed landscape, ready to explode
and gaining ghosts by the basket all
day long
haunted- so many bones plow the ground
behind me, cutting crude syllables in
to clay
as something like
steady rain washes it all away.
