Monday, July 25, 2011


I'm standing in that spot where the tracks interlace.
You're screaming, "Just pick a path, sweetheart!
Just pick a path."
But the volume of your voice makes the hazy air
Swim in and out of focus, tracks twisting back and
Forth onto themselves and I can't tell the past from
The future.
Hands clapped over ears, humming loudly, swaying
On feet with knee socks bunched up around ankles.
Just pick a path, sweetheart.  Just pick a path.

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