Apathy

By: Royce Breslawski

Early snow falling from a clear blushed sky, doves, millions of them, cold and tumbling

as if called

Because I let these ghosts in my life, like

a drunk shepard passed out by the

open gate

Speeding down the backstreets,

leaving the town that broke me,

whole

Oxidized the ocean blue, leaves rusting into

dust, cutting through the

sunbeam

I want to hold you tightly like a

lover, or a

razor

Perspective isn’t tacit, you were just picking flowers, but to the daffodils it was a

massacre