Apocalyptic poems, posted every m-f.

Rural Route

medicine man passed out in a ditch –
the whiskey cure,
prescribed for loss.

we lantern light our lives,
happy,
not because we are happy,
but because we are still alive

gazing back on the glow of town,
below, behind,
i cherish my lack of fire

this moment is so quiet.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s