The wasted hope of the leaves
change colors almost the dead
amongst the armies
villains
accounts.
the forgotten gaze
of what some suckers
call god.
today I found out
that he died
a year ago
to this day.
needle in his arms.
they said things had changed
that he had no worries,
his biggest problem
deciding between
two women that loved him.
now they must visit his stone,
the one with a drawing of his
etched on it's face
like the smile of an idiot,
and lay flowers that will turn
to pulverized bits.
as gravity pulls
and time expands
expelling us out of the gate
dazed and lost
eating the dust
of that which we
shall never know.
Rich Furman's work has appeared in Peshekee River Poetry, 13thWR, The Doomed City, Gnome, and Unlikely Stories among other places. teaches at Colorado State University.