UNTITLED

Telephone-pole crucifixes line the street
Begging
For someone to climb up
And die for our sins

A man walks down a quiet street
He is alone
He might be cold
Temperatures still drop at night
This time of year

Up and down the street
Yellow-brick tombstones stand side-by-side
Marking the graves
Of the so called American-Dreamers

The man walks on
He hunches his shoulders against a cold night's wind

Stars can be seen
Through a light dusting of clouds
A sliver of a moon
Sits elegantly among them

A cat walks up beside the man
He stops to pet it
He walks on

The night sky
Is coloured that deep
Almost-black shade of blue
That lets the mind transcend the atmosphere
Into infinite space
With the stars
And that elegant sliver-moon

And still the man walks on
Down a line of tombstones and empty crucifixes
His shoulders hunched
Against a cold night's wind