to think back, all the seasons that have rushed through the sunset rains, forever floating through the rusty streets of your mind models, illuminated by neon lights of the cheap type of romance. blinded by cars that always run too fast, too close, closer, straight into your eyes and you don't remember what you did all night, moments don't add up to anything larger. a string of them is all there is, too much, all the images blur into an overlay of more and more and more, and trembling. my fingers smell of the dirt left behind, i vent as the sun sets, beautifully