Wednesday, February 18, 2015

ghost smells

musty-trusty scents
ensconced in ancient boards
a store less clientele
or else
they're all gone
underground-
traveling cracks
trailing through warped glass
behind which lies
dust of decades passed
expired deadlines
on old documents
and pieces of
city life that was
webs in corners-
spidery residents
watching as we brave
the broken boards
of a sidewalk
long rolled-up
rays beating flesh
bleaching wood and stone
baking our shadows-
weathered leather
against warm brick walls
breathing the ghost smells
meeting nobody else
inhaling the particles
of a people lost-
perhaps they see
'round ruined facades
or crumbling chimneys
lonesome in empty lots
as we, like everyone else
take our leave.

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