planes of fiction.

in an attempt to construct something new,
i loaded a car with all my belongings,
to follow someone
who needed a friend just as much as i did.

we stopped by to homes i've never been
but always intended on visiting,
and drove hours on roads i've never been,
you quietly sleeping until the sun came up.

a brief encounter
with what was supposed to be my new home
came crashing down in the lyrics
that made me homesick.

and so i drank another glass,
waking up early the next morning for a new destination.
passing by night-lit crosses on the road, i drifted off
and awoke to a city of lights on the gay bridge.

i sat awake alone on the still iced highway,
watching exhaust fumes come through the window i smoked my cigarette.
i lost you in the crowd and experienced the most unreal
moment of history, alone.

then burrowed through the cold
to find new warm homes.
and myself

i found something new on a roof,
making wishes again over the manhattan water towers
i talked over the skyline
and sang that song quietly to the sound of footsteps down below.

i drove a long way,
to find that i missed you.
that life wasn't the same
now that we couldn't speak.

with three broken cameras in my bag,
i bought a disposable,
and for a minutes wandered around the
monochromatic rooms of foreign antique shops.

i saved all these stories for you.
i was just wondering when would be a good time
to sit down to tell you about this wild life we live.