Source Decay

once a week i make the drive
to the Austen post office box
I take the detour
through our old neighborhood
see all the Chevy Impalas in their frontyards
up on blocks
and I park in an alley
and I read through the postcards
you continue to send
where as indirectly as you can
you ask what I remember
I like these torture devices
from my old best friend
well I'll tell you what I know
like I swore I always would
I don't think it's going to do you any good

I remember the train
heading south out of Bangkok
down toward the water

I always get a late starte
when the sun's going down
and the traffic's thinning out
and the glare is hard to take
I wish the West Texas highway
was a mobius strip
I could ride it out forever
when I feel my heart break
I almost swear I hear it happen
it's that clear and that hard
I come in off the highway
and I park in my front yard
I fall out of the car
like a hostage from a plane
think of you a while
start wishing it would rain

and I remember the train
headed south out of Bangkok
down toward the water

I come into the house
put on a pot of coffee
walk the floors a little while
I set your postcard on a table
with all the others like it
I start sorting through the pile
I check the pictures and the postmarks
and the captions and the stamps
for signs of any pattern at all
when I come up empty handed
the feeling almost overwhelms me
I let a few of my defenses fall
and I smile a bitter smile
it's not a pretty thing to see
I think about a railroad platform
back in 1983

and I remember the train
headed south out of Bangkok down
down toward the water