Waystation

As blind red breaks upon the ridge over the choke
And our bright eyes blink into the light that sets the burn
We can only lay down and forsake
Bones that join the wires to cut horizons
Lived out on the lines
Here’s what’s left behind
Lays of high thread pull and tug us back into the gray
They feign hard mouths biting through the conversating sky
Heat leaves nothing left but white on white
No night to set this lost frontier in motion
Lived out on the lines
Here’s what’s left behind
As the wires pluck and bow
I cling onto the things I left so far behind
S.O.S. the ghost tocsins, fondest desires
But that’s what I dream about
I see I say I listen for another sign
Before the line pulls me on