I'm Moving To Nevada. Either There Or

My Heart Is Broken,” She Goes. “it’s Turned To A Piece Of Stone. I’m No Good. That’s What’s As Bad As Anything, That I’m No Good Anymore.

That Was In Crescent City, California, Up Near The Oregon Border. I Left Soon After. But Today I Was Thinking Of That Place, Of Crescent City, And Of How I Was Trying Out A New Life There With My Wife, And How, In The Barber's Chair That Morning, I Had Made Up My Mind To Go. I Was Thinking Today About The Calm I Felt When I Closed My Eyes And Let The Barber's Fingers Move Through My Hair, The Sweetness Of Those Fingers, The Hair Already Starting To Grow.

I’d Like To Go Out In The Front Yard And Shout Something. “none Of This Is Worth It!” That’s What I’d Like People To Hear.

Something’s Died In Me,” She Goes. “it Took A Long Time For It To Do It, But It’s Dead. You’ve Killed Something, Just Like You’d Took An Axe To It. Everything Is Dirt Now.

Happiness. It Comes On Unexpectedly. And Goes Beyond, Really, Any Early Morning Talk About It.