Winterize
It's not impossible to see
the infinite silhouette that tore
right through him.
The ghosts in every town,
they just don't see,
the silver lining found in that
corporate cloud.

Pockets full of spent bullets,
old train tickets,
and pictures of the sun
that couldn't warm up
those winter eyes.

It's not impossible to breathe
with flooded lungs,
or winterize the scenes
that leave you numb.
A tire fire in the night,
a painting that never dries,
a wooden shield under
machine gun fire.

Pockets full of spent bullets,
old train tickets,
and pictures of the setting sun
across a desert sprawl
while hanging at the Governor’s ball.