everything rolls forward unanswered
         it is still autumn
                             here
                my sister
             takes an orange leaf
                   and lays it on her desk,
               she goes to sleep
                       the whole city must be asleep
                   except for late workers
                 and doctors
                           always waiting for an accident

    the world still trusts me to be here tomorrow
          without tally marks on my arms
               and running a little late,
                             like always,
            trudging forth through orange leaves,
                   snow or rain,
                        the sun,
                like the mailman
         without question
              because there are no answers *for* me

    and i have gone
          through countless paperbacks
       twice as many candles
              sixteen autumns
            and half a million
                   meaningless songs

    the books get lost when i pack them away in boxes,
               the songs
          lost their spots on the charts
        and are only remembered in low quality mix tapes
              the leaf on my sisters desk
                       has disappeared
         i spill water on the pages of my notebooks
               and the words drip away

                             (where do you go
                             after all these years?)