worn away
this is all
tired leather
a patched sweater
a morning
we missed the sunrise
a night sky
erased by city lights
an old dog that can’t quite
bring himself
to shit
and die
the body insists
itself on the soul
there is fire yet
and the coffee
is done
Somewhere in the end-of-season sale landscape
history starves for lack of awareness
living on liquid sugar and fruit- flavored gummy snacks.
There is nothing to believe anymore
outside of memeworld proclamations.
We must be self-styled archeologists
finding earthenware hand-thrown truth
buried under a casino construction site
finding solace in our work, making the mind forget
as the dying kids of summer find an abandoned swimming pool
for reel swan dives while their parents, trying
not to give into wet dreams of their last cigarette
doomscroll through how-to videos of shit
their grandparents tried to teach them.
We will not be broken by the heat
though the dogs languish and pant
in spite of fresh cold water in the kitchen.
There is no option but exist as best we can
soak in the cool morning air
embrace the relief of night rain
the sky cracking lightning after the long
sweaty burn of the day
taking in the dance of bats after sunset
as we sit on the back porch, finding
civility in the constant experiment
defining our home – your rescued plants
my unfinished projects – against a world
of mass-produced distraction.
