the flowers lay torn

with seeds split into thorns

loose ends are dead ends

where the rose bed once slept.

 

city of sawdust and debris

freezing beer exploding

the roads lead nowhere

in the papier-mâché maze.

 

milk jugs sit solid at doorsteps

with bubble domes of ice

ribbons hang from bridges

celebrating the new millennium.

 

crossbars peak out of overgrown grass

where parks hide the dead

under the weeds and leafless trees

and crows perch on cacti -

     my home is a cemetery 

                                         where i wait to die.