You seem to echo in the tunnel
and pass drifts of ice as you bury
carefully sliced parcels of cured meat between
the curls of the corners of your mouth
The passing train the night left you behind
over snow drifted plain you pass and ignore danger
hunting for hats and cigars
buy oranges from the flower shop
fishing in the middle of the ocean
the art of deep sea diving [drifting? ]
the desert winds pushing you away from judgement
Your eyes spark and settle on the people in the square
sitting in the sun all afternoon
all they can do to lift a finger is drink deep and dark
the midday is too intense and as long as any journey
silence is admired by the clean wake
the foaming mass of water walls up and falls over
The night is coming and what is there to do
but hold on hard to your madness and turn out both shoes
the walls are calling you closer you listen but can not start
to rise the angelic beats that may settle in [the belly of] your heart
[you wear both shoes tied up all wrong
and taken in by the cold storm
manage to exhume a quiet ending
a husk in a storm