Autumn spurns ice cream.
Had the tire tracks been just a dream.
Scratching with four paws at the door.
They say, bad things happen to good people.
But I say, wicked is wicked.
Like candy from a candy store…there will always be more.
The signs are still all around in this beat up town.
Rugged is the night, well soiled beaten boots, lonely and homeless…
ten speed bikers abound.
I had not known you but your death lingers in traces of waterfalls and fractured mills.
With innocence of voice could your youth ever be found?
I too get lost from time to time.
Woods shadow my heart…disfigure my mind.
Muddied snowfall calls from a vagrant timber.
Beneath a land of lost souls…I am not always sound.