Nostalgia for the Dead Horse

I went
back into
the city;
the first
time since
our demise.
I walked
through 
familiar places
and passages;
all left
vague in
awkward reverie.

There is a long
slab
of concrete
amidst the
clutter of bricks
and feet
near Varsity Stadium.

On it
(written) 
are words
which used
to scream; 
which used
to hold
meaning.

A voice 
now quiet
in deepest
memory.

And fading.

A throat
torn 
away.