The internet age and sublime ridicule
Its all here. The train is going faster and faster with no places to stop. Blond hair is tossed out the door, used mop.
“Your logic is wrong” said the man with the gun.
He wanted to sleep in my car, but we told him to move on. My logic is flawed, crazy, loco but it is mine and it the last thing that I can call my own, other than my faith. Even my children cannot be called mine. They leave, broken hearts and it is just you, from the start.
I love her, them. It doesn’t matter. The train is careening past the meadow with the nuclear cows and the milky sunset. It is going faster and faster, making it harder to read.
I dream a little while longer. Listening to her play the guitar. Easing my sleep into nightmares of waking. Its all her and it is all inside. The train whips past a broken town with people dried up, withered scarecrows, alone. Dead pavement. See? Over there? A dog with the hind leg over a Frisbee.
Tell me that you don’t love me. I dare you.