On Main Street Time Drags An Empty Shoe

Engines turn-over only to drift backwards into the on-going. Cats cling to kids and kitchens. Discarded are the shopping shoes. Stale ideas grow dust clouds in that space between our skulls and heaven. Paints for store fronts are brushed aside forced to hide under long unclimbed ladders. An ill-wind adds gossip to tongues, but where? The talkers are not listening and the silent have surrendered. Tree roots clack and crack under street lamps buried, yet they creak as loud as any brittle-bound Grandfather clock. Small towns struggle to trim the sly slow weeds that mesh and bind their collective ramshackle histories.