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Rural Decay

Lead flakes fall from farm house

siding, landing silently, staking their claim

to a rotting fence expanse

of sick soil, cracked


like lips of the father

who cries alone, clutching God

between his hands, begging

to know why his prodigal son

never returned. Tears land

on creaky floorboards


like stubborn drops of whiskey

into the mother’s mouth. As dust infects

light’s last moments, she disappears

into mawkish daydreams

where the sun doesn't limp, bloody,

under the horizon. Cradling the empty bottle


like the young daughter– now grown

weary of dilated pupils– who gazes beyond

earthly storm to emerging stars,

wondering if they shine brighter

in places that grow

more than tombstones.


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