Don’t go there

The scent is bitter and sallow but sweet

Chemicals a flood raging against the air as rocks

while she burns another hole in the sheet

Down where the bus doesn’t stop anymore

The dogs are old, scattered like litter

They range across the grass with rheumy eyes

to compliment the mismatched, hunched figures

who will follow their friends in time

Close to where the bus doesn’t stop anymore

If you want to look into an abyss

Look at a kid around here, with their knowledge

All the grief of that known to the wise

But here it’s flipping stolen cars, not college

Or burning holes at the edge of town

Where the ivy grew through the roof and in rain you’ll drown

Down where the bus doesn’t stop anymore

If you follow the graves to the end of the row

You’ll find the things we lost, kept alive

What we took with us, after they left us anyway

You’ll see a reason to survive

Out here where a wasteland is a meadow

The reeds choking on plastic

Clinging to life the way a bird holds the sky

Close to where the bus doesn’t stop anymore

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s