Roadside Monument Poem by Luke Hobbs

every song, every line scrawled,
of poetry and of prose,
rasps at this open wound,
and calls back your absence,
like a disturbed spirit summoned,
to possess old familiar haunts,
these scrapes and slashes teach,
my senses what is refined,
and show that I've lost,
that which was never mine,
nine tenths of the law,
were to another already licensed

then need we flagellate so,
need we be so transfixed,
I won't accept just being,
an expense in your ledger,
a tariff paid to affection,
with no hope of dividend,
leaves and love have fallen,
blood red by the roadside,
what is life but death,
that has gone to seed

need we be so transfixed,
what is life but death,
that has gone to seed,
blood red by the roadside,
outside of the city gates