so much wrong 
in these hearts. 
these heads, laid neatly in a row 
on a pillow of stone are 
filled with fevered dreams 
of old kingdoms wasted and gone. 
fitful sleep stretched and stressed until 
tears fall upon this chest 
where you once rested and whispered 
something about home. 
no mercy, ******* – 
no redemption found on the skinny streets remembered from 
a misbegotten youth. 
no escape, *******,
up groaning steps 
made sweaty by air as humid as 
the breath of fate. 
i’m a stranger 
whose tires are unwelcomed on your highways and 
whose dollars are unwanted at your filling stations and 
whose soul is beyond saving. 
blood pooled on the sawmill floor 
when hungry teeth touched tender flesh, and 
left only a phantom.