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.