I saw lines of shadow cross my backyard and seep through the dry soil. With erasure inbound, no more will we lament the loss of a friend. The day ends with the drought of wordy creases, so much that I cannot feel myself think about what had happened.
Your eyes were drooping, perhaps from the elevated wind. I tried to catch your attention by waving a paper bag. I saw no major reaction, but you probably glanced through your peripheral vision, even if for half a second. There was no major cross-reaction when you reached for my hand. I didn’t even feel it.
Shaped Out of the Trial
I changed my shape to fit
your demands of innocence:
you required someone that could tweak
facial expressions (snapshot check my work).
For the remainder of my trial,
there was no scandal when you approved
my shabby work such that the government
dished out “Aha!” in response to that disinformation.
Like a snaking path mastered by trial and error,
We were ushered out without further evidence.
The ghost town fed for a day
during the battle for dollars.
Not so bad for being away from Czarists,
and the denied furniture, disks, or fence
felt exhausted, ashamed.
Should they support pricey shares
of snow angstroms and shotgun shabby?
Muddle the shadow into jasmine bonds.
3:24 AM on Sunday
Hint of light flashed
through window panes
and barely a tremble from the seats.
As the final call for remaining passengers
came from across the aisle,
I mistakenly heard the wince
of an unconscious cat
waiting for a lap of warm milk.
ashes spread out on the ground
not around this part of town
people will stop and glance
move on step away from the crime scene