Potholes and Vines

They leave great potholes, when they pass away. We tumble in so willingly. Some are even given names... like: "god please help me"... or "I can't go on without you". At times they jar us back to sweetened times. before the beast grabbed the throat, When forever sat plump on virgin vines. Nothing can fill these potholes. Matter of fact they get deeper and wider with the spade of time. We constantly swerve around them. Into the oncoming lane. Face first into somebody else's pothole-pain. These potholes are lonely-clever and join together. Until every living breath, becomes a big black hole. Filled with things that fasten tight to death. dear mother hold my crumbling hand (spring vines of yesterday) a forty five year climb from one pothole to another, there's no peace until i become the pothole for another.