Monday, October 17, 2011


We sit atop the truck and talk but we don't talk much. Deer ghost just far enough away as to not wake Moose, the dog, who lies beside the front wheel. His ears twitch in semi-sleep. The moon is in hiding, giving light to all those worlds that exist behind it. Billions of lights amongst that red mist which spears the spine of the sky, your side, my side, past and present, now and forever.

We pass the cigarette back and forth.

So many things disappear as smoke.

I have learned that.

1 comment:

  1. OMG I have a dog called Moose in my book. I once knew a dog called Moose, he was an Old English Sheepie. If it EVER gets published and if you EVER happen to read it, don't think I stole the name. Just think that there are weird kinds of coincidences in the world.

    Hope you are well mister but I don't expect you to see this comment, it's a little bit buried.