... and when
it happened
all that
was left
were bits
of bone

scattered

pure and
sterile
cleaned of
meat
like the
first snows
of winter

he collected
all of
them and
somehow
felt redeemed

i guess you just
had to be there

where the music
made you want to
just drive

glancing into blurred
reflections on other cars

never wanting to go home
dreaming of all those
other distant roads

never thinking of
going home

only pining to
be lost in the asphalt
and doubled yellow lines

she knelt
and understood
that she
has yet
to own
a thought
deeper than
she is.

she'll have
to fight
or go
numb.
she read
the first
one and
wished
herself numb.

but she
wrote this
other one
and stayed
to fight.

to forget
everything
in her
vicinity would
only serve
to release
the soul.

watching distant
memories hold
on to
the air,
she feels
the marrow
rot and
the fungus
spread.

go ahead
and set
something
free.
she thought.

as it all, was put together
with dirt and rust
and all of the other
things that would hurt

it bled from the sky
to wash away
the burdens
of him and her.

his father grasped
the book firmly
and declared, i'll read it
and put it to memory.

so he only stared and
felt his heart sink
knowing that
what was written

would not nor could
not compare
because the words
on pages previous to this

are blemishes
ugly and trite
and if it did any good
he still had no will

to fight.

i know
that one day

my heart
will stop

exhausted and
hollowed out.

i will welcome
the peace and rest

i will shed
my regrets

like a worn
leathered skin

no longer
worry about

unjust things
and wrong things.

these days
are for
the dead
and dying.

a slow
descent
onto our
crumbled spirits

below an
exhausted sky
amidst the wet,
pungent leaves.

this is
how october
began and
this is

how it ends.
used up
but still
undone

with a dull
aching in the
bones scraped
of flesh

and a falsified
notion that
how this ends
is just.