all transitory.
doors that open
and those that never do
70, green,
darkness lighted by neon lights–
blue,
nothing for me to do
but stare
as everything stares at me while I am staring…
(at you.)

huge rocks, wide fields
empty houses with no one to call them home,
trees
alone in their own personal space
breathing polluted air, plastic, and
bodies of those whose time has long passed:
bunkers, ideologies, social orders…

I love the way time takes everything away:
me, you, them..
all that is
all that will come
all that will want to stay.

never quite understood what drives it.
the movement from here to there
and back to here again;
ever-changing
ever stretching…
always the same.