You are the pretty kind of homeless. Cold raised bumps on your arms and that dirt film under your nails. A slight vacancy in your smile, with an artsy desperation in your blue sky eyes. We’ve got our trash bags stuffed with articles and quotes from books and hangers protruding the barriers of our cases . Readily an ease to leave anything behind on the train tracks. You made me a matching necklace out of wood tie shrapnel and wilted flowers. As the whistle and slow steady clanking and chugging of the trains wheels snapped and slapped the tracks. We fell closer. Close to a cheap plastic bottle of canadian whisky. We owned the night. We drank in the wind that followed us into the currents of freedom. Splintering our fingers and wrists trying to maintain balance we stared at the open cars wisps of dark tracers and southern lavender. We fucked in a freight. We followed up in a frosty morning frame of forested fate. You left me in chicago.You left me in a crate. I met my brothers in a gas station bathroom. My worlds never been the same.
Joshua Tool – 01/04/13