estero

Bryan Salazar

over his peeling skin the water flows like a piece of tune making his hair sway and grazing his feet and head and elbows lifted to fend whatever came his way. he'll be named nothing, a mere statistic, to be buoyed up by echoes then let go, the rage will die and oblivion will speak then wander off with his soul in tow. a day will pass by and two days and three with words written and spoken and then gone, where in the ditch the night had set him free the grieving ghost will ever run and run. and days will see more miseries like him to the same rage and quiet, light and dim.