I've been polluted by the promise of love. I seem to tear or burn or rip at it I need to touch what I feel to be as beautiful. I got me thinking, about how beautiful flowers are wild ones. And how I know they will die once i pick them. But they are just so beautiful I want them as my own and it;s tragic (i guess to most in a small way) but to me this act and my simple nature seems to torture me. Seems so intense I apply it to all aspects of my life why can't I leave it alone the torture beaut...

Motionless on a train. The car has come to a halt. Right next to a dumpster full of garbage and trees. I think about our trip as it has passed before it even started. I think while she warms my lap with her pillowy head. I take a sip of my juice. Cranberry and vodka. The conductor speaks. Ladies and gentleman. Announcements that boom over Casey Jones’ high tech speakers. I touch her thigh as the train picks up speed again and it isn’t as warm as her head. I wonder if maybe that is because tha...