gone.

ink on my fingers
bees on my brain
my friends are all missing;
they left on a train.

their backpacks are full
of granola and knives,
DIY zines about anarchist lives.

they blow me a kiss
as they turn and they flee...
i pick flower petals as i say,
"woe is me."

"gone."
poetry
Allynn Carpenter
January 2009