she don't read my blog on Fridays.
and I wonder if she will scroll this far.
from Kip's Bay to Deerfield Beach.
it sure is magical being mysterious. 

like a modern country song.
my gals are both gone. 
I can't drive my truck.
and I am stuck in a train station. 

limbo is like life.
I am left and leaving. 
walking through doorways.
one writer wasting one night. 

as the banjo begins to end. 
I am thinking of a place. 
not called her and not called there. 
one change away from grey. 

back in New York City.
I hum Bob Dylan. 
remember the beach.
hindsight is 50/50 grinds. 

tomorrow is always.
one day away.
and today is always yesterland.
moving through the dark.