Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Milton-Freewater

Every tiny moment
increased until it was
a real day.
The foreign sounds,
the backwards trails,
the pack of trees standing guard
on the edge of untouched forest life.

Black ink trails
lay through the state
vein-like and I can't
find a map to save my goddamn life.

Everyday we'll get off this
Greyhound racing dog
only to find ourselves in places
like Arco and Hermiston.
I could have stayed on and
slept through the leg-stretch
opportunity, but I never do.
I'm interested in how the air
here is like breath on glass.

1 comment:

Tänya Katherine Marie said...

'Black ink trails
lay through the state
vein-like and I can't
find a map to save my goddamn life'

that is beautiful sweet cousin ;)