iron on the soles of my shoes

2004-04-15, 8:10 p.m.

travelling on the dusty road, i pull up my wilting hat and wipe my brow. the signs have changed their color like the trees in my backyard in autumn, where the october air is caked with pungent odor and wind; advertisements keeping me in town, pulling me back to the busted in roofs and the oiless truck engines. it's the way your feet sound like music when they scratch on the pebbles, lifting clouds of dusty dreams, kacophany in the sweltering praries with no audience and no impressionable minds.

it seems like the road can continue forever, and the water can stay heavy in the sky until you've let your guard down, because something has got to give and you can only hope it's not in the flood plains of texas.