Locusts of All Hollow’s Eve

I miss you like locusts on my field

The thoughts of who I wanted you to be devouring my seeds

Set out to hope like a thumb under an interstate overpass

Bitten off by my tongue

Wrestling around in the labyrinth of your silence

Decimating my understanding of who you ever were

Like a mad woman cackling at my wants

As if you ever wanted to be touched inside that sanctum

The closer I got to seeing inside the farther you ran

Lonely for water as if the train was going to stop in town

Instead of blowing smoke along that New Mexico line

Passing deserts and bayous for a heart that needs nothing

Just nothing, just smiling with horror black face paint

Stretching a masquerade for accolades from strangers

To make me believe that is all I ever was

An acquaintance that exploded in written shrapnel

Shredding the skin and gushing flush over like a diary in your inbox

Unable to stop the locomotive chanting Woody Guthrie and miscounted votes

Stuffed boxes full of blank names of all the men

Washed as if I knew a damn story but the one I wrote

Trying to cope with your silence truncating the conversation

Strangled in a parking lot wanting to care about a woman that never existed

Shedding her exoskeleton leaving the crops in ashen hunger

Swarmed in the numbers of what I will never be

This dance of thinking I see, thinking I know as if

When a soul touches another human a certain way from that point forward

It does not matter where they go or what they do

Their entire existence was captured like a snapshot on the platform of time

As all that was, is, and will be is a single instance

So that a mated soul can picture and perceive the grief, the loneliness, the wants

Even a woman running from ghosts in French Quarter alleys

Primed with cocktails and insomnia

A man cannot help but see what he sees or saw and so he writes

He writes like an insane immigrant attempting refuge in a country

He has never set foot but seen in his dreams like a promise his life has prepared him

And so the absence of such fruition leaves him starving like a pale horse

Calling for sanctuary to God and all the demons of mind swarm

As he attempts to be mindful of all the universe is

Praying that there is a right time; a time where all of this has a purpose

In either life balancing that happiness is possible

Between all these curses and cauldrons, mists and manifestations

Of lives wandering for love and ignorance

That she shall be able to dive deeper and he may be able to come up

And maybe just passing or maybe meeting

It is not his to know

But in either there is hope

And even that feels like blasphemy

In a field of eaten crops