when i forget my train of thought, i
just follow the track back to you,
to your looping voice, a trusty rail car:
i love the way you think, the way i
think when i’m with you, the way
only you under-stand the vast sad-
ness of a lost button—the sudden
static that needs but cannot be filled.
the end-less metal snakes through
catalogued and measured out in
phrase doses: hay mucho frio.
packing and moving and emptying out
yet another house, seeing it laid bare:
the walls, the windows, the doors, the
base-boards; the parts that always
blended in before; now naked and
screaming: life happened here!
this dust, these cobwebs, these
memories came from your very bodies:
skin, brains, spirits, bones—each
room is a poem, each corner a
transference of smell, touch, sound,
feel that will never be reproduced.
you use it all to write a six-pack song
that you carry & whistle as you move
along through the harmonies, chords,
installations, tiniest shreds of signs—
over the wide open acres of sound: until
you come to the end of the line.