heard it'd be a race

It was 3 years back
Breath of traffic
Spit you out leave you stuck in stillness
Questioning the repetition off the side of that highway building
And if there's a method to labeling something
The ratio is inconsistent
You won't catch purpose in that solitude
100 years go and you nonexistent
It was a cold email to Dove
It was a warm response sitting at Charcu
A few friends with you in the darkroom
It was a few screenshots strung up on the twine
It's always the drop in temp that leaves you out to dry
Under this stock image of a half-moon
The high tide, pulsing lighting on the brake
Radio cutting in and out
All I heard was it's all gonna be erased
You grow up thinking frugality and sunlight come from one and the same
But my shoes soaked from the rain
The truth is I'm just trying to get away
Sitting on the front porch talking to myself about a couple bad eggs
My day plans include walking around the block
And coming up with a reason to remain
As if your shoes were laced
One of each side of the scale
Of course they the same weight
I don't have to waste time telling you these stupid things
Isn't that all this is?
Just a way to get from Point A to Point B
The only points we add up is spare change
But what's a day but a receipt?
Another line item missing
My whole stockroom emptying
I don't think I'm interested in refilling it
It's a dense curtain of fog surrounding this small boat I'm sinking in
But according to man on the street
It's been rising the whole time
I tell him thanks for the reminder and set that in the back of my mind
The only thing different
Between here and there is a small line
I reach my hands in front of my face
I see the first drop fall uneasy from the sky

I reach my hands in front of my face
I see the first drop fall uneasy from the sky