It Is Out There
Between train carts, still night, the hollow neon gleaming, Dead factories, the quiet, Each day away from the every day.
On the cusp of a river, flowing, moving, collapsing, knowing…
Awake and free from
The long and winding trail to no-where.
Oh, in the wind,
The sent of clean air,
On a field of dry grass.
There is a skull waiting.
