the withering roots of a fell tree
buried beneath your feet
in a thriving forest
at the dead end
of a back country road
to and from nothing special
its petrified seed
splintered unnoticed a groove of your shoe
stayed with you for days til
deposited hopelessly
on blacktop erasure
where an old house had been
haunted by hungry rats
and lonely houseflys
years condemned
the home of an old recluse
last of his kin
died alone
meditations rattling listlessly
like the chattering of false teeth
i don't ask anything except
that you feel nothing
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment