What’s Left of the World by William Taylor Jr.

The day doesn’t want to be here.

The sky’s given up
and the sun’s run out of tricks.

The suicides
fill the night and shine
like unnamed stars

and you’re weary
from the effort it takes
to pretend to be something
more than lost,

from clinging so tightly
to what’s left of the world.

Running out of places
to hide the corpses
of  all your murdered hours,

and nothing left upon the earth
you’d even want to steal.

Embarrassed
by the kindness of strangers
and fallen out of love
with your sins,

your heart crying
like some spoiled child
for something new to love
or to destroy.

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