FILE IT
The memories of the shells are an entry in the index of my mind
I can still look them up and pull them out
But they say I’m ‘morbid’, so I don’t

THE ENGINE
Do you hear it?
The pistons pound as my heart pounds on
Do you feel it?
The pistons pound as my heart pounds on
Do you know it?
The pistons pound as my heart pounds on.

HORIZONS
Clinging, haggard to the sky are the remnants of summer clouds
Scared by the fingernails of autumn’s bony hand
Poured from great treacle pots in those clouds are the roads I walk along