I take another deep breath and movements come with great difficulty, pain is now a part of a typical moment in these desolate road days. I don't remember anymore why I came down this road. All I know is that I am here and then sometimes I am not even sure of that. I turn over in my bed and remember that this was my least favorite dream, nevertheless I shut my eyes and attempt return to this darker hour. Its comforting here, I do not remeber anything when I am here, future, past, present, resentment. I just keep walking. My pace to stay ahead of these howling sounds... are they the wires or dogs I shot at as a child. The guns were larger then. Everything was larger then, my fathers fist, my mothers breast. Face down on the shower floor, wrists and ankles taped the water gone cold after that first hour. I was reminded of this moment and that they were quite similar. The cold no longer affects me at all, it just makes me long for darker boxes.

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desolation

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