Silhouettes and Mexican cigarettes

I wait at train stations

to get back to my world

the one i was destine for

there is no train coming

no conductor to yell

all-a- board

there are no tracks

I have a one way ticket

and I don’t plan on coming back

these are dreams

we have when we sleep

and don’t disturb me

i wish to wake

at my destination

in a time

where i am complacent

and my heart is mine to keep

i have a first class seat

living in luxury

rather than the street

when i once was

a shaved head sea side thug

i want to be dug

and not the one who digs

plots for graves

for the slaves

building pyramids

for pharaohs

i smoke a faros

in my weather washed cloths

and its raining

i repack my grip

so it hangs on a stick

i pull a drink

from my back pocket whiskey

waiting to get back to the 1950’s

I put some more grease in my hair

and stare at the the solar eclipse

I see a shooting star

and I make the same wish

I have been making since i was kid

to be far away from what exist

in my waking life

the grass always seems greener

before it cuts like a switch blade knife

~ by Marcus Cheney on January 13, 2007.