Push

I remember thinking things with no end

I remember writing things not to send

things of temperature

good intentions, and frost.

things that even I would look at

and say "that's fucking boss"

but lately there's a block

a road with no cement

pushing backwards, pushing down.

shining like a car dent.

yesterday I threw away,

like a bag of empty cans.

seeping into liver

this proud day after is mans

worst intentions get thrown to the side

as forgotten inventions circulate with pride

the telephone, the news paper, the light bulb and the lock.

hang it up, throw it away, burn it out with a drop.

Of atmosphere from fire

and a breath filled with fear

as feeling creeps away

as you open your final beer.

Drink half, set it down.

you've had to much,

your ears hear every sound.

piercing like reminders

of times that finders

meant keepers.