Walking Through The Cemetary On Heroin.... - Poem by Carl A.I.
the leaves follow me.
riding on the back
of the northwest winds.
They're blown across the pavement
and they chatter like bones,
I notice the names;
I am surrounded by names.
Victors and Matthewson, and John.
John Graves' grave.
The shade of a willow tree,
who's branches flow like a head of hair,
keeps the summer heat
off the lucky ones.
The children across the street
shriek and laugh
like they are truly alive,
and they are.
I wonder if John Graves ever shot up.
Underneath the boquet of flowers
fallen petals; they tried so hard
to hold on, but they couldn't, and
I think there is a petal for every person;
but we need more flowers in here,
and I mean quickly.
Roses, Tulips, Daisys, Etc.
Soon they will come, and soon they will fall
and soon more will come.
And more will come, and more will come,
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