Where will you go when it’s all over


Where will you go when it’s all over, because
the starts in your galaxy are all askew?
Will you fly north, only to return to see
your rooftops removed?

There’s a ghost that rides its bike in the
tennis courts at night. I shine
my useless flashlight on it, and only
illuminate the wheels. I left my phone at home.
I am afraid.

These are times of stupor, as we sit up
in our painted trees and wonder if there
will be flowers in the spring.

There’s a ghost that rides its bike,
like a hummingbird with a compass. The
hummingbird is a compass, a warrior litmus,
rings around the planet.

Where will you go when you’re all over?
I walk the dog at night. My god she’s beautiful, a
face full of scars, eyes full of stars.
I am not afraid.

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