Life on the Low Road

old man spoke with tears in his eyes telling tales of better days about seasons which bled into each other like paint how colors seemed to fade a little each passing year – he remembered his childhood home how he left it went to new york one eve on a departing train refusing to look…

Desert Plum

Drop it all leaving it behind in the back of my mind racing towards the unseen edge of an endless road to possibility the spirit of america calling to me – it’s rasping rotting in the dry heat of a setting southwestern sun – I’ve never taken drugs but I want to watch the world…