The street light blinking out a warning in Morse code A late November storm turning Nebraska into Kosovo Are not signs of better things to come.
Yearly Archives: 2016
I’ll sleep on the floor of a drained ocean in the shadow of a once jagged coastline. And I’ll dream of you sometime between dark and night
I recognize the way she waits In the blazing sun For a city bus To take her somewhere She doesn’t want to go.
The cicadas are out again. In the trees screaming like some out of control machine. All the trucks resting here, sighing diesel into the night. The waning moon dragging itself into the sticky Kentucky sky. I’m awake but tired. And hoping to make Atlanta before the sun.
All night, FedEx wide-bodies from Beijing and Tokyo Berlin and London stacked above Memphis and waiting to land. And all day too landing two by two. Never will we need so much freight. All the world’s wealth crushing Tennessee into Mississippi.
The first chiseled their messages into stone. The next carved their messages into wood. The afterthats printed their messages onto paper. And the forgottens blow their messages into the cloud.
Probably you will be alive when I die. So bury me naked in the dirt. As soon as you can. Without chemicals. Without bibles. Away from the water. And facing the sky.
There in Kansas City the Union Pacific breaks apart its trains. And puts them back together again. All night those steel trucks rubbing against these metal rails. Screaming like the dead crying for hell.
I wrote something. And then I deleted it. I wrote it again. And then I deleted it. Because who reads. And who cares.