The Lights

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The lights don’t reveal things as clear as they used to
and with a dim energy my chest plods along

No one seems to know me
voices recede
there is the smell of wax candles
dripping on counters of lonely cathedrals
and motel rooms

Countless hands are held out to me in a lifetime
and I am as useless to them
as they are to me
each to their own stratagem

All the hands I didn’t hold
all the kids sagging in their skins
from friction of small town encumbrances
we leave for the highway together with bare bones

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