we crank out a new story every night, some by hand, some by sheer force of will. we're all helpless against the onslaught of old voices, musty hair, you little trembling thing you already knew what breaks a heart; nobody ever had to tell you a thing you just knew.
says she, she says.
slither across this snowy street, slide and slow and climb the streetlights. i fumble in the dark sometimes. some things strike me, some cold coffee memories and burnt reminders, some peeling pages.
oh this, oh that. oh mustached nights and sparkly shirts and plates piled high with good things to eat. i'm new in town; you look like you know what's up, he says, but his tennessee eyes are too easy to fool.
sidle up sideways, link elbows and make a run for the door. for the horizon. for what might be the horizon hidden off behind and beneath the tall buildings of this fat downtown. (beside them, we forget the smell of dirt.)
winter is a blessing and a curse. every season is an excuse.
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