I Once Heard The Sound of Voices

Splitting moons, orange sky,
 clouds desperate to be pink.
Ripped apart by dull  blades,
they  float away,
Alone

 Billowing strands,  images of
serrated flesh placed in layers,
 upon layers  stuffed, into burlap
sacks,  their voices escape,  sounds
 like laughter,
 no more.

Broken frequencies hang  
on fences,
 trampled by cattle scattered
 thoughts dropped, lie in a muddy stench.
Black asphalt, with it's single
 white line faded.
Clods of mud stuck in hooves,  
carry dreams,  of what if's,  
and maybe.
There's no one to listen
now
 no one gave a shit then