a leaf that lingered brown

i blame robert frost
his cold methodology
his need to fill disused graveyards with
death’s dazzling white snow glamour
a slow creep crystalline across
an already shattered windshield

i blame robert frost
as i cannot blame
my father
my friend
or an absent god
for them forgetting
they had promises to keep

ghost light

the moment he turned

and walked away

our world became peckinpah

i can no longer discern

whose blood

my hands are weeping over

agony & vine

for Drew Wise

our friend has died

my little brother

at the library

gone Steinbeck

his cowboy hat tipped back

for Halloween

i imagine him riding

a Grapes of Wrath


away from agony

down vine

face to the sunlight

eyes closed

corners of his mouth

the beginnings of a smile


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