once a week
i make the drive
two hours east
to check the
austin post office box
and i take the detour
through our old neighborhood
see all the
chevy impallas
in their front yard up on bolcks

and i park
in a 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 tourture 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 headed south outta bangkok
down toward
the water

i always get a late start
when the suns 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
is the clear and that hard
 [bad word] 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 outta bangkok
down toward
the water

 [bad word] into the house
put on a pot of coffee
walk the floors a little while
i set your post card on the table
with all the others like it
i start sorting through the pile
i check the the pictcure
and the postmarks
and the captions and the stamps
for signs of any patern at all
when [bad word] up empty handed
the feeling almost overwhelms me
i let a few of my
defenses fall
and i smile a bitter smile
not a pretty thing to see
think about a raileroad platform
back in nineteen eighty three

and i remember
the train headed south outa bangkok
down
down toward
the water