Ocean voyages in far away lands
without ever seeing the sea
and trees, leaves, fall and autumn
colors breaking bones

Breakdown brakeshoe breakbeat
a backbeat an off rhythm
Snare player from the Midwest
in a Salvation Army coat
sees a girl he thinks he
recognizes from a 1000 miles away
An old love, a burnt out flame

Fists in hand, a baseball bat hidden
behind the seat, a host of empty 40s
clinking together at every light
A lady who smokes Tarringtons
skids to a halt beside a hitchhiker
but doesn't look at him as he gets into the car
says

"What's your story?
Are you going somewhere?
Or are you just going anywhere?"

The leaves from the sycamore float
to the ground
A Blizzard, a snowstorm of
amber and flame.
Snow drifts covering the walk of the Galleria
and a guy with a leaf blower
blows it all away

An open door, an unfinished song
Where does that take us, and what does it leave
Leaves, fallen, rotting, mulched in two weeks of
steady drizzle, an end of October gloom
first of November expectations
of a hard winter

A target, an open sore
bathed in antipathy, ambivalence, and four dollar scotch
A beer, a fear, total fakery
No guarantees, of course, but maybe a hope that something
anything
will come of this
this time.