I miss Sonic Youth. The way they built and hoisted a sun with layers of guitar and distortion. I can't find a window to climb out of. To go and catch beads of light dripping from the Bay Bridge. The wind blows through a hole in my hand somewhere south of South City. I want a quiet apartment by the airport. I am certain serenity can be found in the heat of abandoned tarmac. I rotate my headache for the sunset. My long-lost Sarah visited me in a dream last night. I never had a chance, did I? Someone is always taken or waiting to be taken by someone other than me. Imagination is my only escape pod from this planet. I pay my diner bill and walk alone through the weeds and the starlight to my manuscripts piling up in the bell tower.