Bats in Batter

Like a beer-battered bat at dusk
I pursue my blind bisecting,
cutting the deep crisp skin
never finding the change โ€“
the flaw origin.

Another day, another year,
another life will pass away
before daybreak arrives
and I find my headstone
covered in red roses -

thistles line the paths in shadow
and the lawn no longer mowed
and the sad shrubs that once
bore fruit: sweet, sweet
truth.

Like a broken bat at first light
I return to the cave called home
and the headstone of old
in waiting,

all roses long since gone,
withered lives paired up
in a marriage of doom,

like a pawn in a game of chess
already won: purposeless, yet

awaiting the next game.

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