When I go walking at night here

By Christopher D. Lake
Date: 27 January 2001

When I go walking at night here

When I go walking at night here it always feels damp and swamp sounds come from deep in the woods far, so far, from that day in San Angelo at the edge of the desert-- at the edge of something once touched just long enough to be remembered then lost. My passions make no sense to me. I think now it's all a talisman against darkness. You think we're different and I understand; I pretend better than most. You write, and I smoke too many cigarettes and walk down too many dark roads at night just to forget that all is nada y nada y nada and all flesh is as grass fleeting past the car window. I have run out of answers for the time being. There is only now-- for whatever it's worth-- and us-- exiles from this world together inexorably.

Back to the Heart-on-Sleeve Corner