Casie Turrell
READING TIME: 2 MINUTES

Bailey Young/The Baron
She stands at the tram stop.
She wishes she were wearing her
Grandmother’s purple
Coat.
The one that keeps out the chill.
The one that keeps
Her
Warm.
He sits under the canopy.
Wishing he had a cigarette.
Wishing he
Were
Smoking.
The cancer pursed between his lips
Would fight off the ache
He feels all over his body.
The city is wild and all you can do is
Fan the flames
Stoke the fire
Go home and dream that you are home.
You never have enough.
It isn’t ever enough.
Go home and dream that you are home.
Mouth open
Already drunk, you’re still guzzling.
Go home and dream that you are home.
They both glance around.
They’re looking for
Trying for a sense of
Direction.
But the world is endless.
Trams run on rails and we
Run
In circles.
You bleed
To pay your way
But blood works
Just as well as money.
When the cold comes
The white lights
Won’t help you
Warm yourself.
So run.
Up and down and east and west.
Go home and dream that you are home.
Run.
Your tram is leaving you behind.
Hurry up because we all have places to be.
It’s raining and the city looks like Christmas lights
And you will never sleep again.
Go home and dream that you are home.
Go home and dream that you are not.
You can close your bedroom
Door
But you cannot close
The world out.
You are
A part of it.
Connected like a
Spider’s web.
All
That
Beautiful
Evil
Noise
Cuts
Your
Bones.
Go home and dream that you are home.