behind closed ties

bushes dotting the hills like green sheep

everythin is on the wrong side of

the color wheel red dirt beige hills

monochromatic, the idea of flatness

flatness and a few sheepy bumps

and a few big rocks beside the tracks

old west big open expanses

slept through most of kansas last night

through some of the cold of that

amtrak air conditioning repositioning

is all you can do warms you a little

wake up again couple hours later

empty besides the train tracks

makes you wonder what if we broke down

so far from anything how long

would it take for them to get to us

then you see a house in the middle

of nothingness and it makes you

wonder how do they get found?

a few red rocks a tree and a

telephone pole i think of new york

jungle of subway but grand central

so empty and echoey when i play

i think of san francisco and finding

yourself alone for a moment on the

hill of dolores park with headphones in

i think of new orleans walking out of a bar 

quiet of the space between bourbon

and frenchmen streets and night down

by the river with hot beignets

or in the bathroom catching your breath

between songs at the latin bar a moment alone

then back into the city where drunk folks

dot the streets like loud sheep

everything seems ultra-violent

and ultra-heard as the man plays

bucket drums and that group takes

shots and you feel your train of

your sensibilities leaving the station

—August 2021, Southwest Chief Train (CHI to ALBQ)