Yesterday afternoon’s cold coffee
and what’s left of a head cold
getting back to the grind
of the mind and the fingers
putting words on the page
and telling myself
it will all work out in the end
it will all bleed out in the end
in this one long game of chicken
and the headlights are bearing down
but the thing you never, never do
is look away
Is this what a bird feels like remembering how to fly? Is this what a fish feels like remembering how to swim?
Jimi Hendrix on the cassette, pencil in hand, coffee and an apple. Organizing (or shuffling through distraction, depending on your point of view) I found the draft of an old story, “Bump” based on a relationship that ended a long, long time ago, when I lived in Lexington, Kentucky. She once called me “a neanderthal with a college degree.” This was her way of getting in the last word before she went to find one of her long time fuck buddies who was also in a relationship. I remember thinking that since her version of culture included screwing all of my friends, I was fine with being a neanderthal.
After a while wandering my mind’s geography turns sour and when I look outward, some shit bag has littered the landscape and left it to me to clean it up.
I find myself returning to old habits. The mornings blur, punctuated by the necessity to move. Away from the river the itchy foot kicks in and needs moving in spite of the new old man hip that moans when the rain knocks on the wind and the stairs keep going. The feet must keep going. Making sure I am present when I am home and finding ways to stretch this new old man hip out on the road. Must go and make use of the time. I have done the thing that frightened me, which is dig in and be in a single space, though that space turned out to be the land between the bridges, which opened up the river, that great world’s wound. And now, here I am, back on the road, riding different wounds and different currents. But they are not unfamiliar.
moments taken apart and cleaned within a millimeter
the surface must be clean and smooth to reduce friction
examined and repaired, each breath polished to a high shine
equipment checked and double-checked
firebox boots retooled, bring out the road hat
there are currents and islands to be found
mooncasts and sunrises to bask in
the stars make their own map
and tell all our stories, the ones worth memory
