The gavel drops,
twisted and fornicated
by
the madman’s hand.
Dealt out to the
better,
          lesser
                    man.

The combine, travels in reverse.
Bird droppings on a
battered window, pain,
shattered, letting in
the harsh
          summer
                    rain.

Snake rivers glow
in the evening, partaking
in the avenues,
          traveling,
                    T- train.

Spreading,
ashes, ashes, ashes.
The smoke escapes,
cold
          and
                    grey.

Shadows changing,
shifting,
          playing.

Looking back,
a mirror on yourself.
Paper backs on your own
lonely,
          rotten
                    bookshelf.


Cover to cover,
pages ******,
paper; cuts
deeper
           than
                    swords