Smokey

You; worthless pretensions.

 

Boys—you abandon—

Often and obnoxious.

You arrive

Missed, that much

By him—He feels loss

All the time,

Confused,

Distraught with

Eyes wet and

Running, around a neck

He asks why:

 

I wish

The truth was a door.

 

I wish

Words could gore.

 

As

Whole worlds fall apart.

A hit road;

Another beggar

Disappears

In the mountains;

All the love he needs

With one

Heart

Wrapped in

A duffel bag

With

Running shoes

And a

Map.

 

Me; it’s been worth it for that.

 

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