The tracks are empty ‘cept for some discarded papers and a lone rat prancing around. An empty sound, ‘cept for the garbage truck digesting and horns blaring below.
The clock reads zero, all trains delayed and young boy walks carrying a broken umbrella.
A woman in full bridal dress is sitting alone with a dry tissue in her right hand and her cell phone in her left.
Somewhere there is a garden needing seeding, a well in need of rain, an empty office chair and a group of orphans looking out the windows of their rooms.
Love with no heart, a brain blacked out and feet with no soles.
An older man smiles and tells the boy, “It’ll all be good, just plant your seeds, conserve your needs and never lose faith in yourself.”
The kid just smirks and says, “Do you need an umbrella?”
A blond lady stares intently at the older man and he offers her the umbrella.
“There’s no rain in the forecast.”
“Most times sun and rain turn up when you least expect it.” He says and uses the umbrella as a cane. The blonde and the boy smile at one another.
He stands, leans to see if there is any movement down the tracks. Talks to himself,
“Maybe she’s right, Lord knows I’ve been wrong. Who am I to give unsolicited advise to strangers?”
He takes out a cigarette and lights up, takes a deep pull and tosses it on the ground putting it out with the tip of his shoe.
“I once walked with my head high, now I wear a hood and dark glasses. Who wants to be recognized in an asylum?”
The sun is heating up and he could hear the train coming up the tracks at a snail’s pace.
The blonde and the kid are holding hands. The bride is staring towards the west and the clock is blinking green and white.
The train is filled with the weary who have the strength and courage to do what must be done. Spending the days in a mesmerized state of survival.
The older man sits and smiles to himself. “Working class hero, John?” It’s really just Another Day, Paul, living in this glass onion, peeling off the layers causing eyes to well up. Do you know why?
A beautiful world where beauty has a price of admission. A fare only the few can afford, entrances blocked and secured by 7 foot guards giving the green light to the pretty and the well dressed.
Questions, answers and experience teaches that no one has the answers. Experience proves that each road has a reason and the answers can only be revealed with time.
Life’s truths can be found in books or on desolate streets or train tracks. Some find solace and believe the ancient stories contain all the answers, if you twist them and turn them, answers can be found beneath your bed or beneath your shoes. Answers you choose to interpret from the non interpretable.
Love is inconsistent and fragile and lust is an escape. Orgasmic exultations can be a momentary respite from the frantic pace we find ourselves in.
Exclaiming time is so fast while we travel at 89 miles a minute. Blaming time we pray for more and more. Another chance to take another path although we know deep in our hearts and minds, that we will end up in the same destination over and over. How can we find our entrance always moving so quickly?
Foggy mornings filled with twisted trees and dirt roads, a short walk towards the river. Where a small boat awaits you, with oars and a broken mast.
“Let the water take you home.”
A strange voice called out.
“How would the water know where I need to go?”
Foggy evening, the moon has been silenced and the cold air has moved in. A broken branch cracks under the weight of a memory and the birds scatter.
An old ancient looking woman tells me, “It’s the night gods, they are upset that the fog conquered the moon.”
A song plays in the distance, a song familiar yet foreign to his ears. He listens intently but the sound fades away.
The bride is under the tree and she is still looking at her phone. The older blonde lady and the boy are playing poker as the river rushes on and on.
Take me home.