...

the grim weirdness
of nostalgia
feeding on the carrion
of life unmoved
and forgotten

Some of us were not at home
when you came in
that day
Who was it
you met that day?

None of us remember
anything more than
sullen moon tremors
through slats of lashes
against eyes squeezed tight.

It was no one you met
there are none of us you know
nor we
As if
anything seen could be said
would be heard
it may as well not have been
You do not know us
You would not recognize us
if we stood
in front of your speeding car,
not in time to stop.

Some they never are
others come undone
but without wings this is home.

Words
hear in my mouth
clenched tight
held close
imprisoned
like the others
the ones you never met
only to be flattened
by your intentions
smashed flat
like the rest of us.