the town air is still more insipid than I remember
the decaying laid to rest in ranch homes and townhouses
and more recently underground

the cold, dry and tasteless, leeches life from the bones
for the slowing heart of these abandoned streets

where families, unaware, come to their slaughter
cloven by the allure of death
hanging in the wind

the husks of the trapped wander
and masquerade the bar stool seats
of have-nots, should-have-beens, and glory days of yesteryear

and all i can do is shake the black powder from my shoes
for this stop on my travels
this shadow of a city
i've no reason to return