slept the light of a sleep
that you only get
on the plains of mystery
lands of flatness
woke to mist on the railway
no sign of humanity
other than the tracks
we be travellin’ on
no animals
no birds
just scrub
the good god scrub
of a church less land
mile upon mile
to that tree in the distance
flat white sky
sun ball round
silver perfect to the east
smile and burn
soon it will turn
the mornin’ mist away
then back to the blue
summary heat
in scenery sheets
gazin’ upon lands stretched
to the far horizons
all is empty
emptier if possible
than should ever be
12 hours ago
when the day rolled around
into night
the plains disappeared
and we only had these people
on the train for company
- old timers
chime buddies
shadow punchin’
who have lived most of their time
in the last century
wobblin’ round
slowly they talk to each other
and not to me –
just how it should be
so 21st century
dots on the horizon
plenty of nuthin’ to see
empty sweeps
rocks in the open
red stretched soil tracks
low lyin’cloud
made for the days of bounty
when that mythological hunter
who only ever did exist
in the depths of my imagination
side collided
and super-sized
into the strange idea
that all of this was
alien implanted and
exactly as it was meant to be
trees the size of bushes
scrunch punched
low upon the territory
rocks casually strewn like sin
upon the open spin
how they ever got here
who will ever know?
it is a mystery to me
need to ask those
who have the knowledge
of the rise an’ fall
of this planet formation
and disintegration
need to sit with them
ride their waves
of explanation
but first i have to fly
to find them high
up in the sky
place names
here mean little
more than nuthin’
because they
are nuthin’
points on the line
dots on the track
dustbowl pins
stakes in the open
where in the land
of nowhere to be seen
a broken fence is a form
of celebration
clouds floatin’
seas of them
atmospherically
above the plains
in shadow pool
formation
banked stacked
over twenty deep
in air terraces
turned inside out
rusted drums
left to stand
around every
coupla miles
oil drums
drummed out
side fallen
in symphony
with the rocks
and stunted trees
punch bunched
on the empty
drums of rust
decoration
radio jazz
railroad jive
slight sense of
elevation
from radio jazz
playin’ to the nation
horizon shuffle
engine tug
pullin’ us along
but lest we forget
out here there is
no destination
time curved
soil packed
red to the limits
of how far the eye can see
premonitory dreams
fresh as milk
where there is no adulteration
are booked for me
