Car Door to the Soul

if you don’t want to
watch life around blink out–
cursed land,

foundations we claim
as home, ground into us;
bones of Tolomato

and shells. Keep haunting
me across Mississippi
sutures, contradictions

of conviction–Everyone needs to go,
but don’t all go at once…
Smelled the cool dirt

and don’t want to come back,
and neither do I,
waiting until hands fall,

until hands become healing
over sand. Don’t care
if it works out or not,

your echo no longer
pacing as rapidly against
dead wood, clothes on the floor

even your place–from an exo-
skeleton of our salted
scent still trapped in my window

buzzing all night,
passing by, hear soft crash
of waves taking you,

modus operandi of the over-
dosed–How do I blot out
shiny new ghosts pulling from the sea?

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