Howie Good

Things Past

The crying corpse that hits the road,
accompanied by the ghost of Andy Warhol,
looks back once, twice, three times,

sees women superimposed over the sand,
ripples in the sand mimicking strands of hair,
a dune tracing the curve of a hip,

my entire high school sinking into the sea.

Assembled from fragments at

Howie Good was so much older then, he’s younger than that now.