these moments are rare here,
when the wind
blows hard enough
to knock them down.
tonight, is one
of those nights.
blowing south, it
deposits the dead all over sunset.
unacknowledged by
most, they’re piled
up on the edges,
waiting to be removed.
but where do
they go?
and who takes them away?
it’s not something
i’ve ever seen,
but maybe tonight
i’ll stand watch.

yellow is the color of
despair on this road
liquor stores, motels,
and an unknown number
of people who
need them.
itinerant scrawlers, unseen,
hitting everything but
the sign…
crime
ǝɯıɹɔ
and an arrow
between, pointing backward.
more yellow,
the 754, nearly empty
and traveling
in the direction
i’m not.
briefly, i see them,
like me,
lost in this city.