2022-02-19

quik stop parking lot under the abandoned freeway

I hide myself in secret cities of an American past. Early morning coffee--then brandy or bourbon for the rest of the day. Fortified by shadows, books, and records. I am curious about so many things. Tilting into sound, rearranged by words. I sometimes miss the smell of her skin and hair. But I am not troubled that she went away. Her absence keeps me company. A motel brightness. A concrete made of day.