I am traveling beneath
the ruined city.
It is in the past now.
It is in the past now.
The bus is a moving box of night.
Dark within dark.
Dark looks out on dark.
The convenience store,
streaked and momentary.
Grandmother, newly dead.
Neon trails for miles—
letting go, hanging on.
It is in the past now.
I am a journeyman.
Pick me up
at the Windmill Diner.
I leave my station
and speed with strangers
toward uncommon destinations.