Derelicts

If you look backwards,
You’ll find rigid bones,
A ring of thrown ragged stones
The aftermath of “The Lottery”
Contusions on our cores
Tattered flags, flotsam
Derelicts and reeking recollections

You’ll find that the wind never sleeps,
Soaking through and digging in deep
Seeping through your flesh
And loosening the dirt
Over the grave that you toss in

You’ll find that I really never left
So please be good for me.