Roadkill

Every day, it hurts. But every day, I inch closer to it—those elusive, glorious cosmos where I can learn to be alone.

Pain is a graveled highway,

beseeched by soot

and spit.

Its sun-washed roads

scorch my feet

as I stagger towards its

unforeseen end.

The tears in my eyes

are like wind-swept sand,

burning and mystifying,

as if carried from a dune

within the ceaseless,

white-hot

expanse

of my mind.

My Pen: A Town on the Horizon,

glittering

and shivering

behind swells of heat.

Your Face: A Mirage.

Your Body: A Thief.

Your Hands: A Spoiled Memory,

all pink

and red

and shredded,

like a possum sprawled out

on the thru-way.