September 11th, 2009

The Colonel

Sandman

His hands shake. He's got that far away look in his eyes. He glances at me but he's not there. I believe I've just met the sandman.


[ This is a very short little poem I wrote to myself with my phone while standing at a Greyhound bus station in the rain waiting on a new bus since the one we had broke down. I took several pictures of this man. He seemed very strange to me. Very very pained. His body was pained and his mind was as well. He had salt and pepper hair, black jeans, a nascar shirt, and a thick black jacket. His hands shook as he smoked. In the hour that we stood there he smoked about....ten cigarettes. Which seems like a lot to me. Anyway...I thought he could be something magical. Maybe some kind of lost god or angel, pained with the things he knows and sees, looking into a world we have no idea about. ]