Hazy responsibility just a dissipating shadow here in this gulch, responsibilities dissipating to the realer concerns of railroad time, watching- for broken ties jutting from the tracks, odd little brown snakes snaking around in the unruly brown grass, ready to strike or so you think, bums bumming never mean but sometimes surly, nasty-looking Atnalta skaters, golfballs flying from golfball hellcourse beside the snaky Beltline track coursing through, phantom CSX robocops on the Beltline prowl- and forgetting, reveling in that forgetting.
Dustclouds billowing from the tracks- dustdevil dervishes, dustdevil timeclouds, dusty sandy throatcoat dustclouds- and you take cover under the overpass, not in the overpass teepee but you do peepee behind the great graffiti’d columns, and see that others did that same pee dance, along with other carnal viscera—old condoms, condom wrappers, beer bottles, wine bottles, nasty thought of those who’d fuck behind overpass columns. Maybe it was a teepee orgy or maybe two crack lovers kissing powdery lips each to each, disgusting and sadly romantic, dusty love behind honeymoon columns, behind George W-as-Golem. Did any Wonderroot teepee kids hear them grunting and giggle? And return to their communal squalor and blog it? We were at the teepee and saw two bums fucking it was disgusting Bobby’s painting it on the porch right now wow teepee hell and bums fucking see you guys at the house show.