Private like a Zeppelin

Water, sunshine... these tomatoes will grow. When everything blends together -- day to night and so on, it's the comfort I can have when closing a night I don't want closed and tackling the tar black of the late highway with high-flicked cigarette butts that explode on pavement and curlicue in the disturbed wind -- spreading ash till it dies. Toasted zwiebacks. Sardine-can nightclubs. Highly uncooperative friends. The many thoughts I want to put down but can't because they are stumbling upon each other. Someday it will all be clear. Someday it will be private like a Zeppelin. Everything matters. Specially you.