Fences

I came across the rotting fences known for their sharp edges
consumed of putrid embalming of dead rodents.
Diseased and sick distressed blood on cement trailing to
the rusty switchblades sticking out of cultivating soil.
Sadness overcomes me like the limpid grass trying to grow in small circles as if to
stay together and rise above the unconquerable circumstances.
I walk away perplexed and estranged to the odd world we
end up decomposing in.
For the deterioration of our limbs mimics the fences in the yard
for their age and exhaustion.
I feel the ground beneath me begging to explain itself and the way
of the wicked inevitable threads of human adversity.