damp

Walking further down past the church I slip on a heel, pants weathered from lack of drought, sinking past the roots my mind fondles Dew. Sweet, bitter, young, laughter, in the streets above me. Lost conversations abound, naked and running, summers eve has fallen. Make way for her, autumn. The Soft side of forgiveness, opposites, the corner of the dresser where we rest our cigarette butts reminds me of dark dank cellar where tramps drink cheap gin, a sound in the bathroom muffled by headlights in the yard, knowing that ill have to change my dirty old work boots in a couple of hours because of, her pillow, the cat, thy kitchen cabinet, false teeth in an antique glass. Now, or then, and. Inside the rats cage ran by electric and copper wire, standing alone in the dead of the forest under antler trees.. City sidewalks and rural nations trapped in war. Her voice..