Birthday Candles in the Effigy

brake light shards scattered in the brush

dead seeds, a monument to nothing

sun-faded headshots, so easy to forget

the aftermath of skidmarks veering to the left

a dormant intention chained to the bottom of a sunken spaceship

drifts endlessly out of reach

as a silent informant gasps for air

ancestral visions sinking out of frame

where do they go? and is it all the same?

this callous world beats upon my threadbare heart

should i cut the strings or patch it up?

all's well that ends well, but what if ending never comes?