dead ends

I don't know this country, I don't know this crime. The well worn rails, the time smoothed stairs. The clock has lost every inkling of keeping a straight face. I slow and stare, and my vision blurs. Every revelation is a dwindling, every limit another world. I spend a little too much time with the flea gnawed gray cat, opening doors that are not mine. I look to the sky instead of for street signs. The stars are cloaked in wisps and distance and I can not find my way.

Every time the weight is lifted, it gets a little heavier. Every time the day ends, I see less and less of light. The change of shifts, the change of the seasons. Tar smoking on the freeway, lights blinking and swaying across the lanes. I drive in a dull set of hunches and reflections. The radio waves colliding with the inconstancy of the hills. The road curves and roads cusp. You can know your destination and still go nowhere.

The day ends with scant alliances. The day grinds down in faint relief. One more, one less, so goes the measures. I could close my eyes and die and not miss much else. I could drown in my own shuddering dumb silence with no witness left the wiser. I am learning not to speak when there is no-one left to listen. I am learning that even dead ends begin as journeys.