and no direction, too...

Driving down through the desiccated coast I feel the heat rising off the sunburned ground through the tiny fibers in the indigo canopy. My mind been a wanderin' as I'm passin' this scene like some ephemeratic picture on a moving screen, telling me to keep on movin', they don't stop for no one. Why should you? Beggars and thieves, through and through, mind you. They stop for no one. Why should you? I'm a God-fearin' man, like the lot of these mates, who sit here and sit there and talk of these things and those, and make sense of what's not to make sense of. Reasonable, God-fearin' men, through and through. Comin' through the pass, mountain escort to the end of the road, keepin' myself awake on the Lord's golden brew, a slap in the face here and there, and an assortment of pills that'd make the Easter Bunny cream. Where's your voice, man? Whaddya say 'bout that? Makin' no sense's what you're doin', been fixin' to do, all these days. It's always the same thing. Outta your mind, you've conjured yourself, in the worst possible way. just keep talkin', brotha'. you'll be there soon enough, so says i.

something of an assignment...

indefinite definition

Space –

1. The blankets and sheets where stars collide, where life begins and ends, liquid white hot, deep, dark cold; time of all time; where lonesome, lonely lights flicker in and out

2. The place I lose myself in when disillusioned/disinterested/despaired and searching for a hook on the dark side of the moon.

3. The miles between us at the dinner table, looking at each other, at the food, back at eachother, when we’ve run our course and the conversation has lost its life; terrible routine

4. A nook, secret club location, hiding under the bed like soldiers in a battle, children being children, waiting to be found and loving every minute of it.

5. Containing infinite hope and possibility.

a correlated graph of constellations

he leans up against the wall and surveys the surroundings. people pass in unconscious stream of thought and they don't even know where they're headed. he looks around the square and waits for someone to share a fleeting glance with but it never comes. back at the hotel room he pours himself into a chair by the bedside and sips from his reserve of nostalgic feeling. warmed and inept at picking himself up out of his distress he flips on the television and changes the channel to bars and tone and, in the same way an olympic diver leaps headfirst into the deep, he entrenches himself in his latest identity crisis.

two days from now a young boy will walk into a general store in the midwest. he will ask for a pack of gummy bears and a bottle of pop. the man at the register tells the boy that it will be three seventy-five. the boy offers up four one dollar bills and receives his quarter change just like every other day. outside of the general store a man and a woman argue over directions. they don't know where they're headed. the sun offers no help.

back in the past, before the boy and the commotion, major williams wants to push further into the heart of enemy territory. his soldiers are tired and hungry and the weather has had them wrapped around its finger for days now. but the major insists. thirty minutes later an explosion to the east sounds out like a chorus of elephants. push ahead, cries the major, push ahead.

i write by flylight in deep woods past the river and bridge and the hanging, hollow trees while the wind wonders where the moon hid on this night.