You know,

I was saving this
line for a
sequel to

until a mallet we
never saw coming
smashed us to bits and sent
optimism running.

Silver lining in
a broke
down palace?

Even Alice is
afraid she’ll never
see Wonderland again.

Frostbitten hands scribble demands for pocket change on cardboard icicles. Stray Shepard, my final friendship in a lifetime of mental distress, recycles faded warmth in hind legs that won’t stretch.

This is
God’s retaliation, a cage
match of
versus hypothermia,

His voice in my
dragging behind
winter’s suburbia

reading me parables of a
man carrying unbearable
an Arctic desert.

Too heavy for
one place, too fractured
to remain
a single piece.

My friend, the
Shepard, put his head in
my lap and finally
falls asleep.

Now I’m truly
alone, all of the
whistling Heavens
at me.


3 thoughts on “Nomads

  1. “His voice in my
    dragging behind
    me” ….what a beautiful and poignant description. There is so much melancholy in this. I don’t know if the loss of your friend is recent or in the past, but this is a lovely tribute to him either way.


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