Nothing Comes [View all]

I dream I'm in a station
waiting for my ride
I imagine a fine train compartment
with a bed and leather seats
but it may be a bus
I'm not sure
Nothing comes
the sun light through the high station windows
casts shadow patterns on the tile floor
just like yesterday, and the day before
I wait
The curved oaken benches are my bed
I no longer worry about the madmen
that roam at night
The morning yawns, people stir
Nothing comes