Time is the accumulation
of all things, only in the way dust whirls through
an abandoned parking lot,
clogs the wheel well of a rusted pickup truck.
Trying to distinguish one noise
from another; a rabble of crows hunched
over on a barbed wire fence, their oil-
dipped beaks & feathers slick with fluorescent,
orange sunlight, the sound
of a car engine whimpering beneath the hood
while the radio drones on
in the background until it becomes a mumble box.
This memory, the red stink
of a fly-smothered deer carcass festering
by the roadside, its grimy fur
stirring with ticks that ripen on sour blood
then burst like a cluster of
pomegranate seeds. How soon the mind recalls
what’s already forgotten.
These neon ghosts flickering in a vacant motel sign.