and as the autumn leafs start dropping
I frown and lose myself in thought
is love perhaps reserved only
for those between the age of hope
and the chains of a 12% mortgage?
what of those searching souls; longing
the frail and withered corpses tumbling
tumbling with the weeds;
an OK Corrall backdrop
with the sheriff dead,
the coyote howling
the hero riding off
in solitude
never searching
always finding
reason to stay
mortgage free
