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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