Chaser

The moment when dead begin
to outnumber living–I’m sure didn’t
take long. Charms and relics

piling under a bridge, leading
to salt and disrepair, feeling
the pull of ragdolls in gutters…

Heartbreak, or blue presence filling
feet with animation against want,
but toward light. Search

for a way not to walk over all
the grave’s, soil rich with remorse
and loose ends. There’s nothing

more heavy than weight of mystery–
sun hardly glowing through haze
they try to convince us is sky

but we know the difference,
we just stopped caring when
dead fingers began to turn to pink

roses, trick us into falling, out
of necessity, but I should have
went a long time ago…

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