Sanctuary Road

This is something that I wrote back in December, but never really edited. Most of the editing I've done now is punctuation, but a little bit of phrasing near the beginning too. Its form is reminiscent of freewriting, but content-wise I spent a lot more time on it and the coherency shows (if limitedly). Without further ado, here it is.

Pipe smoking professor

Sanctuary Road

I'm riding on a train going somewhere I don't know. 

Conductor looks at me says, Canada you want something? you know where to go? 

but I'm just as lonely, just as scared of tomorrow as the next soul 

I hold maybe fewer grudges, but I'm every bit as cold. 

When I try too hard there's a pain that hits me in the heart 

and I know there's something there, 

diabetes or some strange disease, 

brings the thought of being home 

to be so clear to me. 

Wake up fevered on the coach the railroad is in a dream, 

here I'm buried in a sea of apathy and snow, 

but the thought is just as strong, my eyes see nothing but the road they call it home, but to me it's just another cardboard box a mess of Russian dolls and in the middle me what rail to jump, what car to drive I'm holding up my sign and looking at the coins on main street, dropped like diamonds in the snow. I'm not made for the weather you know, it holds me down and brings me close to the smell of something I can't pretend to like. This bitter city holds no part of my soul. For love and peace, and a host of other things I must leave to Arizona, never mind she's buried in snow. A plane to a place I've yet to see, still a sense that I can find a sanctuary settled somewhere on a road, with a conductor that calls me Canada and a feeling like I'm going home.