poem 3000 miles long
found four days later
hiding beneath a desk in
his mother's back yardhas nothing to say about
the bodies of
his wife or childrenblood on his shirt and
all of the reasons to
kick him to death where
he cowersthe way it would feel
so fucking goodthe way the
temperature drops to
twelve below zero on a
saturday afternoon in
january
this dull pain where
the stitches area pale blue sky
faded to white above the
houses and powerlinesthe plastic bags caught
in chain link fencesnothing sacred and
nothing beautiful and
what i forget is how
this man's story endshow his last days
are spentwhy my own children
should love me
