My ink-stained hands hear the
sound of the railroad, another train
passing through my town, here

at the middle of nowhere &
everything. I am ready to burst
open like a cherry tomato

between your teeth.
On the porch, the perfect circles
of cigar smoke, smell like

dirt and bourbon.
The sun a vast memory,
the cold dark triumphant.

Re-worked 2006 journal entry | huntington wv