the trains crash like giants bowling and the strange black moving thing scoops along in the distance, bewildering. is it a crane? i'm stiff and want to be back up north with my toes in tea colored water. i like these days to spend the day not talking. i'd like to not talk to you sometime.

someday the grey will take over and i wont be looking out this window, hearing what i hear seeing what i see. the cottonwood waves. the sea promises. the roads lead away and break underfoot.
listening to trains listen to them listen to themlistentothemlisten.