weeds and garbage and
barbed-wire fences,
nothing to keep in but
poison,no one to keep out but the dead and the dying
and so why do you stay?
where else would you go?
listen
piles of books gathering
dust
in a curtained room
pale winter sunlight on
the cemetery
follow the road that cuts
behind it and
sink up to your knees in
the muck at the river’s edge
consider all of the
bitterness
your father left you
try to remember the last
words
you ever said to him
pretend that they meant
something
more than they actually
did
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