the trees
scaborous things
asparagus stalks
gone to seed
grasping at the fog
the hands of dead dreamers
floating in the swollen
bayous of southeastern arkansas
choking the light refracted
upon a million droplets
hovering between
a fool and home

the music doesn’t seem
to go loud enough to drown
out the goddamned words
so i do nothing except
choke on the bastards
while drifting down another
doomshrouded highway
farther and further from
anywhere close to happy

they told me there are
gators out in the mists
while i try to outrun
the siren call of miss takes
before she bleeds me dry