Just like lawn mowers machete over innocent grassland,
the trains in Mr. Mallory’s city grated along their metallic tracks,
tearing through all atoms of stillness to set a pace for the day
Standing on the platform
Mr. Mallory rested his arm across the length of his flappy leather satchel
and analyzed the concrete
good day for a dip, i think
neck deep at least
tangle my feet in the boulders beneath
probably slip all the way under
drop to the bottom of eternal sadness for cover
sink and wonder
a swim through the swamp of woes
where the vast nothingness roams
cast a net for those crumbling dreams, or…oh
nevermind the dip, i’ll splash in my tears
it’s familiar here; getting wet never felt better
enter my give-up era
I remember the night I met you
We sat on the porch and smoked cigarettes
I asked you about music
We understood each other right then
Today, thinking of you, I remember that life can be war
Unrelenting
Crueler than humans one by one
It’s an onslaught, unforgiving
You knew despair, you told me
You were a songwriter
There’s no depot here, if you’re looking for it.
It didn’t burn down or go out of business. It just wasn’t ever built.
Trains pass through, but they won’t stop.
Hi.
This is where I’m from. It’s in the middle of nothing yet.
Maybe something is coming soon.
If you need a taxi to the next town over where the trains stop, you’ll have to keep walking. Or maybe you should run.
In this dream, we are all together. It’s December and I miss you. I am not going to believe I won’t see you.
Tonight, you’re just outside the front door, I can hear you. You’ve got on that tweed coat, the one that’s almost yellow, with the thin black lines, and you’re smoking. You’re so elegant out there on the porch, talking in between exhaling, waiting for dinner to start. You say something self-deprecating, make that sound like a “tff,” you’ve dismissed something you just said. You laugh while you set down your drink.
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