Categories
Poetry

Oh, Richey

You left us when this whole shitshow
was stumbling to another century, where
did you go, Richey, where did you

You slept in your car did you it’s the
whole fuckin fame game that’s all, 
the burning rose, the smiling butcher

Watching the black sky above
a lead weight pressing down, pulsating
with impeccable loneliness

Oh, Richey, back in Blackwood
haunting the old home, the bare bones
of the empty streets, alone

Why is home so lonely why is home
so abandoned why are we always leaving
and where do we go now, Richey, where

Bogdan Tiganov