Source Decay

Once a week I make the drive, two hours east

To check the Austin post office box

And I make the detour through our old neighborhood

See all the Chevy Impalas in their front yards up on

blocks

And I park in an alley

And I read through the postcards you continue to send

Where as indirectly as you can, you ask what I remember

I like these torture devices from my old best friend

Well, I'll tell you what I know, like I swore I always

would

I don't think it's gonna do you any good

I remember the train headed south out of Bangkok

Down toward the water

I always get a late start when the sun's going down

And the traffic's thinning out and the glare is hard to

take

I wish the West Texas Highway was a mobius strip

I could ride it out forever

When I feel my heart break, I almost swear I hear it

happen, in fact, clean and not hard

I come in off the highway and I park in my front yard

Fall out of the car like a hostage from a plane

Think of you a while, start wishing it would rain

And I remember the train headed south out of Bangkok

Down toward the water

I come into the house, put on a pot of coffee

Walk the floors a little while

I set your postcard on the table with all the others

like it

I start sorting through the pile

I check the pictures and the postmarks and the captions

and the stamps

For signs of any pattern at all

When I come up empty-handed the feeling almost

overwhelms me

I let a few of my defenses fall

And I smile a bitter smile

It's not a pretty thing to see

I think about a railroad platform

Back in 1983

And I remember the train headed south out of Bangkok

Down, down toward the water