I struggle,     stumble,
under the  momentum of
          slow crushes:
a riverbed,      cultured-

                               the way you walk,
                                       you speak,
                           or turn corners,
                                           you
                forget how far nowhere is from here

       -how long it is until
passage through those alps
          to forget how far I've gotten
                     from the town
                             you turn into,

forgetting, you're
    not, ever, going to
       want to
be a dancer

                 "...because I'd have
                               to move
                               I guess"

and the only town left
I know you in anymore,
is all cracked concrete,
empty parking lots,
lights way down,
you not ever
there.