oh, how the years go by

hand with the poison
for the crops that grow in the neighbor’s yards.
it’s a dichotomy, this welcoming tradition that can’t be held.
gone are the days when the air brought it’s lungs.
and the dogs are panting like warm baths now, 
so taken away with your words.
given a home to the thieves and stolen time,
broke the skin between the ankle and the hairline.
a traveling flock of widow’s wives donate
blood and cleaning materials.
a little child tried to cry upside down
and plugged the hole in the ceiling.
it’s best this way, 
an empty room peering in from the outside.
an empty pill inside the throat.
and oh, how the years go by.