There Were So Many Dead Things on the Road

There were so many dead things on the road.
Again, not my fault.

Silence, the road was fraught.
And my own barrel was empty.
My own stomach demanded an apology.

And her own narrative was taut with emptiness.
Her progression, her chord structure left you wanting;
like an ice wall with no ledge to grapple.

Can I offer you your own Adam’s apple?–
I have a feeling that dome is vast.

It’s a shame that she has a voice
that cuts with velvet.


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