Waste Management

Both sides of the road are lined
in guesses, and better to leave
them dried up and corked to save
sentiment from spoiling them.
It’s not that my legs are tied
as my hands often feel, that being
unable to push my way past the moon
when it pants with its tongue out
and whines unfetchingly doesn’t mean
I can’t run away; it’s not that at all.
Except, I’d like to run to someplace
real with interminable creaks and
a guitar twang wince when the light
flounders in between its towers -
I’d like to explain it with gestures
before I have to guess which side
the words will be on when I reach them.

-C.S. Henderson