dust in the wind carried on the tails of SUVs
my friends page is a desert landscape. when i click to it. after five minutes pass. a tumble weed blows past. and then nothing happens after that.
this evening, after stopping off at the art store to buy some oil. one paint brush. one glue stick. and one pen. i decided to curve my road so that i might pause to reflect at the bonneville. my first building in seattle.
the gate was held open by a brick so i went inside. and i sat down on the steps. and i looked at my old door. and i remembered what it looked like to me the first time i saw it. the staircases awed me. up and down and left and right. the black iron.
i paused there and realized.
how long ago it really was.
once, seattle held only one life for me.
now several have passed on.
tim leaves for new york in eighteen days. good bye tim! everyone, wave goodbye to tim. all at once now. good bye tim! a single tumble weed blows across the page.
robert. lets meet in timbuckto.
i miss you.
that terrible country song.
and a different color to the realization that im not turning around this time.
still i ask "is it really true?"
every day it becomes more true.
we are over darling.
we leave behind tumble weeds.
which the wind tears apart.
the wind leaves behind nothing.
this evening, after stopping off at the art store to buy some oil. one paint brush. one glue stick. and one pen. i decided to curve my road so that i might pause to reflect at the bonneville. my first building in seattle.
the gate was held open by a brick so i went inside. and i sat down on the steps. and i looked at my old door. and i remembered what it looked like to me the first time i saw it. the staircases awed me. up and down and left and right. the black iron.
i paused there and realized.
how long ago it really was.
once, seattle held only one life for me.
now several have passed on.
tim leaves for new york in eighteen days. good bye tim! everyone, wave goodbye to tim. all at once now. good bye tim! a single tumble weed blows across the page.
robert. lets meet in timbuckto.
i miss you.
that terrible country song.
and a different color to the realization that im not turning around this time.
still i ask "is it really true?"
every day it becomes more true.
we are over darling.
we leave behind tumble weeds.
which the wind tears apart.
the wind leaves behind nothing.