I remember being out in Indiana I remember the sunset and smell of cornfields.
I remember the emptiness I shared with you.
We were the best kind of poison.
You died with the past.
Now I am a million miles away and you still linger like some old injury deep within my bones on a cold morning.
We lost it somewhere.
Wild was the wind.
—–
John Patrick Robbins is a barroom poet whose work has appeared in Inbetween Hangovers, Your One Phone Call, and the Outlaw Poetry Network. He can also be read online at Hello Poetry.
