Sometimes, there's no structure,
no storyboard,
no reason.
All we're left with
are characters.
One resembles Bob Dylan—
Pumiced by bitter dusty
wind,
eviscerated
by gravity,
and left for dead somewhere
outside Graceland.
He'd give everything
to have made it there.
He'd give everything
for a mouthful or two
of clear, lubricating water
so he could
speak again
and tell you his story.
But again—it doesn't
make sense; the explanation
isn't satisfying.
It isn't even
that
the vandals took the handle;
the pump
just doesn't work any-
more;
it's old. And it's
broken.
