i have been gone. ever expanding in an ever shrinking town. walking on brick streets and driving by sets of little, handmade docks only inches above the water. trying to find some space that hasnt been filled already with old and decayed pasts. ive left a hundred across the map. kisses and cigarettes that left a bad taste in my mouth.

put them in graves, and im buried with state. in the mountains of dorset, or cornfields in illinois. in spokane where ive only seen the trees in the fall. i'll sleep in newark and full glasses of cheap white wine, in missouri with full glasses of expensive red. preserved in holland, alone on the canals, and in jeruselem never alone for a minute. in stairwells and elevators, on a hundred front porches, in my car that's on its last hurrah. down highways at 100 miles per hour, down country roads through feet of snow, stalled in traffic at the I-80 interchange, i've left me.

but buried i must leave me, in high hopes that decay leads to growth and that the foolishness and joyfulness and beauty worn out by time hasnt yet been all carved out and planted. because i have to have something to go on. for these i feel like a factory... and demand is fast decreasing.