autumn tactics

Nights, passed exits.
The self that waits in line doesn’t stand still.

This isn’t a cross, or a box, or a waiting room.
This is now.

This is what I will make of it, and so, I choose to have it be a remake of myself.

All I need is the fuel. Give me the fuel and I’ll run forever.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 20th, 2007 at 4:14 pm and is filed under code, electronica, reflection. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.