an empty coffee can with bullet holes

five ghosts one
wander in the desert high
on the souls of travelers eating peyote
that song is always so familiar
a future dream perhaps
weaponize your words and head for the hills
winter is so long I’ve almost forgotten what
women in skimpy clothing look like
the rail yards are deserted
and there is no focus in the minds
of Americans anymore, just stagnation
how long till the sewers run
red with blood
i’ve wasted a weekend
with dull entertainment
plodding along without sacrifice
fuzzy and uninterrupted
the kings and queens of bullshit
always reign over an empty court
sleeping on park benches stoned at 15
who would have thought conformity could
take hold like this
“it’s the things we love
that kill us” he said
caught again at the junction between
remorse and boredom
young men wait for adventure and
old men wait for retirement
i wait for purpose
all grown up with no where to go
i don’t ride in the backseat anymore
it seems that
bad habits cling to these hands
like stubborn moss and
the greatest sin is the one
they never taught us in church
I know that now….





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