imprint

why do we tailgate 

in worn streets 

where no memories

breathe free

the space leaks 

salty steam heat

leaving trails 

of worn feet

where even tears

won't bring me

profundity in a train station

the farther life buries us, 

the more clearly we should see 

that it's the hurt and not the joy

that's the vital organ of beauty. 

tears

the last first snow of April 

Fell 

In such heavy clumps 

Now settled into ashen fields 

I veered off course into the playground 

and wept

I shed bitter tears 

For the first time in ages 

Everything exploded 

A symphony of death and unknowing 

Cascaded over me 

And I wept 

Lasted only a minute 

But the mass unloaded 

And fell directly upon my heart 

Answers still far 

Somewhere on the other side 

Of this forgotten landscape 

Tethered to loneliness 

An old man's gallows 

And feeling for something 

In a room I locked myself in.