strung out/afraid of the end

somehow it all comes back
after days of knowing how
and these purples fade in sunsets
on interstates and runways, i'm just
a kid. these shells were made for bigger snails.

and weeks of wondering will seem
like flecks of desperation, thousand-mile
trees but now, now, now.
i wonder how i seem?

sometimes snakes just die
or curl up inside and shed their skin.
the seas are still alive
filled with empty men and empty skin
and now and now and now
reflecting, returning
sometimes men just lose.