November

When last we spoke
I sang of end times
Of cities washed away

The bloodless halls
A flooded station
And that last train from LA

Well three years have passed
And here I am in the waiting room
Delayed with all the restless

Some sixty eyes fixed
Hard and fast on the TV
Playing something senseless

Me I dream of a broken watch
With hands like vines

In the dream I see the
The sweep of centuries
I am a prehistoric bird

And I wandered six lane
It would be generous to call them boulevards
With their dead-eyed metal herd

I’ve come to peck the faces
All of the faces off of every clock
Then set myself to ponder
The golden shoals the clouds
The rotting dock

Can you hear the carnival rising
The brutal fairgrounds aglow?
Sunburned families laughing at
The toy gun game stall
Someone screaming below

And I want to tell you
About November
The people that I met

And sleeping badly
On Pullman pallets
Blue blanket caked in sweat

Cardiogram power lines
Heart of the department of the interior
Glow-in-the-dark Casio
Breathing fast

When last we spoke
I sang of end times
Of cities washed away

The bloodless halls
A flooded station
Could a train be an escape?