Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Whither Thou Goes, I Wish I Could Go

It's different here. Different kind of cold, goes through me-
Oh god, the train.
Take me, take me, take me, the whistle says.
Come with me. I'll be waiting at the station.
I'll take you anywhere you want to go.
Take the first step.
But you can't look back. You'll be salt.
I lick my arm. Squeeze of lime, shot of tequila.
Yes. I am salt.
The train pulls out, silent now.
Standing there, I don't wave goodbye.
I don't take the next train either.

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