We arrive. Whole.
Wholly surprising. The roads,
Now filled with gnashing teeth,
Once filled with quiet rage,
Horns mourning time lost. That
We now reclaim, in small ways
Primal, but
More. Time,
We salvage.
Salvage
Salvage, trash, or what
You call, that
Which to you has no purpose,
But.
To me.
Oh! To me, the wanderer
The stranger,
The one who knocks.
Oh! To me, the melodramatic.
Emotions you cast away,
I make midnight prey,
Pray tell,
Why you use so,
Hideous,
So vile
A name, as trash.
Salvage
Salvage!
The streets, lined with many,
Many things. Cast away,
Holding on, holding purpose.
The streets, lined with gold,
And catalytic converters!
So,
We arrive.
Nearly unscathed. Eager.
As eager as
Treasure is for the taking,
For the lost to be found,
The found to be lost,
For us all to hold some semblance of purpose,
Salvage.
Dirt Witch Records 
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