Homeward Bound.

Traveling down
a road you know
too well -

Travelers enchanted
by the sights are
too peculiar -

Pressing their noses
against windows you
don't need.

Mechanically you put on
your coat to arrive
before they remember
their suitcases.

Asti on the Train.

Sixteen-year-olds,
giggling,
discover the joy
of popping bottles
of Asti on the train.

Traveling and drinking,
talking 'bout boys,
for no good reason.

Twenty years from now
they'll have to join
clubs and societies,
to talk, travel and drink.

Boys turned into husbands,
the bottles multiplied,
the giggles got louder
- but rare.

Drink and dialect remain,
only the sixteen-year-olds
get lost on the way.

Dies.

Fata morganas
of empty vessels.

Ought to bring
precious gold from
coast to coast -
instead rotting
on the vast ocean floor.

Failed remnants of
wood and water.

00:41

Cutting caress of air on
late night sweat.
Tasteless foam on sweet lips
unlicked, unkissed.

Heavy cotton damp over
sleepless wonders.
Empty containers dust,
unreturned, unfilled.

Downturn.

Cars in their coral,
awaiting their last drive.
A storefront sale
of hopes and hoaxes.
Slashed prices
too big to fail.

< /end>

The world could
cRaSh
around u
u
would not
notice

unless
there is a
link
or a
#tag

Quarter Life Crisis

...and your mother said:
"Your party ended
pretty early, didn't it?"

You just spilled your coffee.