This is the other poem that entered my head this morning.
The Plan
Let’s form a crime syndicate
and a Merle Haggard playlist.
There is death in the trees and
road work in 500 feet but the road
dissolves before then and we
plunge into the underworld where
we will sign up for reanimation
classes and pass the time playing cards
with the other sullen, spiritual rejects.
Writing for Ghosts 
Quite a world you conjured in so few lines. Reading it felt like attending a meeting in a post-apocalyptic location, the hollowed-out capitol?
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Thanks for taking time to respond. I definitely had addiction in my mind when I wrote the piece. I don’t write much these days, so it’s nice when something just shows up.
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