Weary songs play the tired sentiment of middle aged men's tears
Strung out across the square where strangers wait on the perimeter
Palms stretched skyward
Looking for a missing God
Eye contact deflected by worn mattress springs
Away from the whispered reflection in broken tempered glass
Splashes of loss manage an escape in a sigh
Too tight girls in dirty sarcastic jeans rout a perfect blue
Nothing to buy, nothing worth selling, nothing to see
Home is as far as freedom, as close as death
Souls on display, hidden from view, and
Everywhere between
Prayers scrawled across the back of a burn victim's heart
Palms stretched skyward
Away
Palms stretched skyward
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