earthmovers raze the tools of their trade still litter the landscape. machines made to move dirt. bullies built to break down rock and road. hulking, sinister things. silent as they are now, i cannot purge the sounds they've made from my mind. the men who bring these comatose beasts to life walk to shake the waking sleep from their bones, together but apart. one of them relaxes his jaw and sings: "i wanna see what i got to hold me through the long, long night." not who. what. he knows there's no one waiting in that cold bed of his to wrap their arms around his tired frame. only whatever warmth can still be mined from dreaming. 241221 what's it to you? who go blather from