Pushed

The bleached and dusty miles
Beige, yellow stretched thin
As cotton over stubbled cheeks.
The ditches on the roadside
Interrupted by scattered trails of gravel,
Shortened lines of dying trees
Overburdened by overripened fruit.

My friends are chasing echoes.
I've lived enough
To tire of types.
I clutch a fading faith
That's only mine.

Flirty flame.
Dirty grey.
Your long hair
Middle night,
Your eyes
A pool of coffee
Freshly brewed.
God damn,
I married long before
You bore a name.

Only a gram or two,
Not much.

- 8/29/25

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