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 bloody,
paper; cuts
deeper
than
swords