Jars

They drive across the state with both
their windows down to get a better
view of all the empty space we waste
by never going there.
She turns the radio off and ties back
her hair just as she notices her sleeve
is torn like paper. It isn’t fair how
all the little things add up to something
more than we could ever really own up to
in a lifetime.

A light above them moves across the sky,
they follow after but they cannot be sure
where they will end up in the morning.
They watch the locks on their doors melt away
as they both finally run out of things they could say
and the awkward silence does more to warp
their minds than any single dose of long lost
missing time. All wasted days are a crime
against what makes us out of daylight and blood
causing a flood of just people looking for
anything to do with their time.

Maybe you’re one of the few who can see
how all this heaviness is a facade,
a fading show that we are forced to applaud
I’m sure that god believes his word is his bond,
and that the car at the bottom of the pond
is a key detail in the way that all of this
is supposed to work out. I don’t support
any doubt like how our mountains were thought
to hold up all of our skies, but I reserve
the right to question why when I don’t understand.
The insects in the jars may never see
the other side of this experiment,
but we don’t insult their awareness
with a flower taped against the outer glass.

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