Long Island
I’d watch the astigmatism of the lights blur in and out,
And wait for the Long Island Sound,
Vibrating in my ears in the back seat,
to dry my tears.
Quiet my mind.
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Summary
I don’t know what to call this. It doesn’t really qualify as a diary, per se, but I wouldn’t any sooner call it a novel, or a collection of poetry. But then again, I suppose trying to label this would undermine the whole point of writing this. It should suffice to say that it simply exists.
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