Z-e-p-h-y-r

there’s a certain concentration of freedom between stations
or what i consider freedom in these fenced-in glass walls.
what we learned from the movies when we were in our pre-teens
turned out to be just the echo of an imprint of a call
and i meant to read two novels on my way out to the west
but i only read the essays with the note on the first page
and all i wanted to write about quickly left the scene
after finding a hole big enough in the air conditioning.
oh…be my home. i forget when i’m on the road.
and i woke up every morning not knowing where i was
and if the white outside was snow or salt or painted on the glass.
i feed off simple stories and your memories about wars
and i was staring at the scenery not remembering what cities are for.
when i got out of the train at midnight in the middle of it all,
i felt the cold in my feet and the smoke in my lungs
and i ran up and down the platform measuring the train
like a weirdly lined-up village doomed to be always travelling.
z-e-p-h-y-r be my home. i forget my one true love when i’m on the road.
cut the darkness with a plastic fork, it will swallow us whole.
there are no cars in the distance and no voices on the phone.
everybody’s conquered the prairie just like ma & pa
and i’ve had one too many conversations about america.
i remember the nothing shrinking down in size
and seeing not more than if i hadn’t opened my eyes
and having dreams about tidal waves and all of us in tiny boats.
i remember sitting in a hotel room thinking my head was about to explode.
z-e-p-h-y-r be my home. i forget my one true love when i’m on the road.