spirit

night like a lion.
roars at the setting red sun.
eyes stay wide open.

ink thicker than blood.
but each novel costs a pint.
how much left in me?

in a world of people
someone is like you.
but most are not.

wind whispers secrets.
traveling across countries
harboring ill will.

between concrete walls
move gray bodies, emptied souls.
a trail of debts owed.

black wet strip of road.
a ribbon, a band-aid bleeds.
tires hum soft tunes.