A bright orange billboard-
electronic, an unaffected beacon.
All of the sky and the flat shit land

between Newark and Jersey City is a
perpetually varying shade
of grey blue to grey

No contacts in all day,
I stare out the window of the bus,
listen to an album I can easily ignore.

Everything is made of twinkling 

overlapping circles of light on top of no light.

When I finally put them in the clarity of the
world is near shocking.
I stream a new album through my iPhone and
understand those panning travel shots in the
transitions of indie movies.

And somewhere in Jersey,
I watch massive white clouds from a smoke stack
sit heavy in the air, like cartoon steam from a children's train.

Homesick and almost home.

Homesick and far from "home". 

Home sick and in between a house
and the stupid useless concept of
"home" in quotation marks.

My body, down to my bones, feels pitted.
I don't understand how I can feel
like shit without allowing myself to?

Regret, like a single drop of dye in a two gallon bath.

I am making something else?
There is no better time than now to make something else? 

Or at least try?

But it doesn't mean that my other doesn't feel
as if it pales in comparison to other's other.