Lonely for sunrise
It’s America out there. I know it. The night sky is as dark as faith.
Random street lights fire back a signal of life to my box car.
The light cascades to a vehicle. In it’s prime.
A prime that reminds me of the junk yard I saw back in the dry of Arizona.
Rusted and forgotten.
But we remember this vehicle as it proves its use. The train moves and it’s forgotten.
And the driver sleeps, I tell myself, there is life out there. Tucked in freshly washed linens. Out of sight from my box car.
I saw a cemetery, as I was waiting for the coffee to start brewing.
That’s a few states back. Follow the tracks and find us here.
A living mass tomb.
4am. Box car holds us all victims to sleep.
Sprawled out. But this is where you find me.
Stubborn and face illuminated. For every sleeping stranger to see.
Waiting for coffee or sunrise.
