like handles, and bottles in the gutter.
Like cigarette ash
they’re scattered, taken with the wind,
and footsteps trudging, shuffling in.
In through the house, through faded light glow,
floating in voluminous fumes out the window.
Love gets broken like fists
through faces, through walls, teeth,and window panes.
Into smithereens it disintegrates,
back to dust.
Eaten up by the fall, kicked up and spit out,
trodden in by the feet.
Wiped off and left on the welcome mat.
Friendships get burned like bridges,
sawdust, and beer cans in a snow-encased fire pit.
No longer does the October breeze spark the flames,
no longer will it glow under December night skies.
Only its ashes will be left to scatter, to flutter
with the somber morning mist.
Livers get warped like flood beaten homes
molded, crumbling, rotting from the inside out;
foundations buckling and falling to their knees.
They first bend in the storms bottles send,
against a last poisonous breeze.
Bodies get burned like the bridges,
sawdust, the beer cans in bonfires.
Their bones shatter like handles that warp
and crumble them.
They break like fists through faces, walls, and teeth.
Their pieces are taken off the couch, the floor
by the morning mist’s breeze.