I recall all the roads, but never
the destinations
the last stop on the train, the one often forgotten
the last call in the bar, when the bartender looks at me
with those eyes- those eyes, you know the ones
forlorn, as if I won't have nowhere to go
but he doesn't know that there is nowhere
to go, but everywhere
the last dance before he says goodbye,
the last song on the jukebox often skipped,
the wind blowing us apart in the early winter,
the trees decaying
the poetry pumping in my veins, pouring words onto
the page from some day I can't quite remember
I recall all the roads,
but never the destinations