Know the road
make this turn
curve, like a horseshoe
every morning
each return
Sting in nose
reach for tissue
box, nearly empty
every season
each week
Know the back of that
car, like the back
of that man
every stop
every go
this song playing
on the radio
Simply because
I’m tired of living
says the note in this
last empty box
by the road.
The Hungry Artist 