Here's To All Too Familiar

Life is a lot less about change and much more about staying the same. Life is a lot less about moving on and much more about letting what ever it was fade away.

That is the way.

Somewhere along the line I've forgotten exactly where I was heading: all I know is the treetreetree lined up against a purple night-bruised mountain slicing through the fog and sometimes the rain. Miles and miles and days.

Each morning's present, the not so unique feeling of waking up in a box: stale air, no leg space, windows and doors, closeing in on me. The farther I got the less I remembered until finally it seemed this was the only feeling in the universe, the only scene, the only dirt, sky, stars. Somehow they looped and looped through and through across state lines and mountain passes, always new, always the same.

As I slept through the latenoon hours I seemed to recall something else, someone else, something. It played like merry-go-round music leering loud and monotonous, I sing it now but I am not sure who or what or when it was.

This was the way:
Bare tan brown burnt sleeping still stink; bred cows and machinery, industrial lightbulbs breaking the skyline and single railed track lined parralel to a single highway. When's it end?

Forty minute drive made twice a day, someone had blue eyes and sang out loud to the broken radio static with no sleep fortyseven mile drive.

Someone had five years under his belt, salary, and the honour of being taken advantage of.

Someone slept alone and I think, someone, at some time baught a train ticket and broke the speed barrier of 25 years of desert and desperation. Singing for the last time: forty minutes, forty minutes, forty mintues till freedom.

That is the way. In the light of this predusk parade of sunlight and shadows I let my muscles relax and drank a sip of water. Here is to all too familiar change.