ain’t no music in the grave
but the rattlin of bones
the resonance of moans
the silence.
ain’t no films in the bottom of the lake
no black woman tears
no time lapsed years
no plot twists.
ain’t no love between the tread grooves of a tire
no finger-laced walking,
no laughter, sweet-talkin
just dust on forever cracked lips.
if I know these places have nothing to offer me,
why do I keep wondering about visiting?