Follow the Dashes

I don't have an eye. Just these panes through which I see. The flattery of the moon tickles my shins as I rationalize the furrows count against the unplanted seeds.

Wearing his clown nose. Stepping out of the feet. I like seeing him red, but I can tell the tint has yet to own him.

There are no more tears at this point. Just words that mindlessly graze this sparse field. Every morning I wake up and greet her grey. She is colorless. One with the four walls she lives in.

I see the words they speak. Every wish their weak stomachs vomit up. But they still can't explain how if they've gone hungry so long they're not dead yet.

They can't say what I want to hear. Can't even imagine what it would be. They slide their doors. Follow those tracks. While all I want is to open the closet.

There's room enough in there.

We race down the highway. Obeying every line. Dreaming of dashes.

Thinking eventually they'll allow us to pass.

Oh, but they look back, and I'm not even there.