An ambulance in the sunlight.
An arm, a leg, something missing
from the picture, but the
picture has no sound.
The dog has been shot twice,
but refuses to die. Cut its head off
and it grows back, and so
you drive.
End of the road to the edge of town
and then 3000 miles to where
the continent falls into the ocean.
I am looking for you here,
among the weeds and the discarded
bones.
I have questions,
have gifts,
have dreams that need interpreting.
I was told that this would
be my century.
I was led to believe that
what I had to say
mattered.
Some of this must sound familiar.
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