She won't throw out her trash,
not even the casual-t of war.
Letting it fester brings flies,
and she sits in the filth.
He's not speaking anymore,
his fires been scorched.
smoldering photos in a hole,
wind picking up ash,
twisting across a blank sky.
The lights turn down,
a sweltering summer blackout.
Theres no moving in this darkness,
or time to acclimate.
Magnificent purple, orange, and blue.
Down for the night,
dead in the sky.
She used to be excited about the sun,
A page turner to mark each occasion.
But then it became easier to pretend,
and the sun was just that.
that hung in the sky.
It's so still, he wonders if the worlds asleep.
He wonders if he'll sleep the night.
He wonders if he'll sleep for years.
On some distant car radio,
or from some distant FM wave
waltzing through the air and in through a car window
“I could drink a case of you darling"
And the dial clicks off.
No, "still I’d be on my feet.”