End of the Journey
Fifty-two hour journey by train
I don’t have a book to read,
music to listen to
food to eat
or space to move.
Thirst makes me stand in front of the mirror.
My stubble-covered face
is clearly in pain
is forlornly free
it looks like a clump of dirt in the wilderness
I suppose that now
it would be okay for it to be broken.
The end of desire
Dust going to the city.
-On the way to Beijing, China
printed in The Street Where the Pipa Boy Disappeared.