…the ride

Sullen trees still stand for something.

Low craggy branches have seen things,

Held this and that,

Watched faces

Furry, bald and scaly.

They watch in the quiet air taking

nothing.

Absorbing nothing.

 

Sheets of milky silver

A plate of milk spiked with mercury-

that’s the backdrop to all of this.

Soon it will all crash down,

Burn through those observant branches.

Let’s toss up something else,

Watch it all shatter and fall

apart.

 

On dusty streets

when you start to wish for a van

to knock you down,

Snap some bones.

A trip down some stairs,

Darkness.

That’s when you know the end is coming.

Or maybe

you’re finally onto something.

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