A Weather Vane

from His Old Branches by The Republic Of Wolves



All that time that you killed,
Pulling smoke to your lungs
In a parking lot covered in green glass
And shimmering
The light on your face starts to darken and dissipate
The ghost was inside your mouth
Placing bets with your teeth.
Forcing your voice out,
Pushing your tongue up from underneath
And out past the fields we were racing the sun.
You slipped away past the fog and the firelight
I saw the footsteps cut out of the ash.
We traded names just to see if the colors would change
And they did.
I got sick of the pull
You just sputtered and sank
You were nothing
A curtain of sawdust
A weather vane.
And don’t try to skip past the part where you realize.
But I lied my way out of this one
And you lied your way to a ditch
And I fought myself just to stay up
Out of your street-walking, tongue-talking sleep.
How it consumed you
and eventually me


from His Old Branches, released July 8, 2010


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