Anywhere

Bob, , , ,

In a dream you are mumbled by a group of incongruous words. You find you have the silhouette of a jet pack for a tattoo. Between your shoulder blades. No memory of how it came about. The only way around this city is by bus. And this bus is possibly only a rumor, a wisp of shadow. The last few piano keys of a beautiful melody is the only currency for fare. You ride the bus for hours. You take it anywhere. Sometimes you close your eyes till you hear the last stop announcement. From there you try to find your way home. The only way home is by hunch. All in a hunch of wind and silence and by the look of deserted shoes dangling on power lines or following footsteps in a dream to disappear into. But all goes astray, and you find yourself at the end of an unfamiliar continent that ends at the sea, and how the waves reach the shore here is like the wishing of coins into a fountain. A strange accent of rain in the tread of your boots and the wind and spring you drag after you after hours along the railroad tracks and city streets. Who will pick this up, the images of birds? And will you find employment in the growing moon?

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