empty bottles laying in dry leaves

dry leaves crack with small holes
where old bark
pulls off caterpillar crawl,
they hunger for 
the crispness
of light
biting into
glued on
stems;
 
water roof rust nail dripping
onto
103 degrees of blue 
gray slate,
bakes like
coffee clinging
to the top 
of a 
stove;
 
garden gate swinging
like somebody 
forgot to pick
up their footprints
left in an
old memory,
dog sniffing round
for a forgotten
bone;
 
he had the drink from
empty bottles,
threw them into
shadows under dried labels,
wiped his feet 
clean, sober
in a life where
he found 
her. 
 
 
Copyright © 09/03/2013 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®
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2 comments on “empty bottles laying in dry leaves

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