Knob Magazine

There are five grey hairs on the right side of my chin.
I can see them, before bed, when I floss my teeth.
A shave tomorrow and they will be gone.
I can already feel the mornings cool air against my face.

I do not recognize myself any more than you do.
Am I same man who, at the moment after the slide
but before the crash,
would dance with opportunity until chance cut in again?

As my moment reaches the horizon I am
a shadow cast by the setting sun.
My long body stretches across the desert,
and my head twists against the side of a passing train.