A story of the singing gut

A story of the singing gut

grace gutekanst

Strolling down Savannah streets

covered in moss-blown trees 

and warm air balancing

between ancient buildings

and a southern beach that whispers to the 

grains inching there way to foam lips

I'm not supposed to be alone

He told me he'd drive me home safely

I don't need safety

I focus on signs 

while my feet chant to each other

after the other

after the other

after the other

Music starts and stops in my head

I'm singing loudly

It's 3am

But even the street can't hear me

My arms swing 

to help my elbows forget they exist

And..

"Nice voice beautiful" shouts out

There's no one on the street.

I continue to sing.

Then I look up

to find blue eyes

What's your choice?

I hear train tracks gargle metal

the smell of traveling food heated,

doused with sauce to hide what's inside

I glance at people who don't talk 

And one's dressed up,

catering to their equals, 

so they can afford to live

I feel myself uncontrollably moving 

cold air rushing to my calves

Navy blue curtains sway 

Old tea stains on paper placecloths

Squeaks emerge in-tune with the random bumps 

but hardly noticable anymore

Up ahead I read an exit sign,

a green graphic person

But who would escape?

We are moving

Fast pace 

Fast enough to die from an exit escape

So if something were to really happen

We either die inside

or risk dying on our own outside

I guess it just depends on what type of passenger you are

But most of them are asleep.