The pixelated faces in the picture don’t
change anything. Everyone’s aware of who
they were. One of them once told a teacher
that she thought the world neglected all
the wrong things, and this doesn’t really
prove that she was on to something,
but if she was I think that vision died
with her.
Our greatest symbols are used to sell us
back the things we never gave away.
Another drive past every option when
any other day would take apart the night.
A fading town where all the people there
are living in a rampage of their memories,
and the storm sirens must be tested every Sunday.
A young man walked away from a fight
that he would have given anything to be in.
The wind pushed back against him
and this was shown by violent uproars
from the sea. He heard the distant mocking
back behind him, but he held on
to the quiet side, and made his way
across this stretch of land that did not know
what it could be.
Teleporting Typewriter 