Sad Poetry: Exchange Rates

 the path is barely trod. the map scarcely read. 

we wander. in our dirty shoes. culprits in unfinished stories.  

time's lingering funerals sparsely attended. 

we dance in our stained clothes. chasing the absent tortoise. 

the needle is blunt. the knot slipped out of its thread. 

we chew on the glass. of shattered windows. 

the machine is idle. the engine is silent. 

the words will never say. the places can never find. 

the spectacle of choice pushes through us. 

loud and fastidious. 

questions in the cheeks of wolves.

answers in the bowels of piglets. 

we are spent. bruised coins. in strangers pockets.