Prose, poetry, fiction, and rambles from people with a bit too much time on their hands.

Not

I

Air: crisp, humid, full of promise,
as a golden apple.
A slurry of cool coffee and cream
moistens the tongue. Caffeine diffuses.

Morning traffic on the interstate.
Into the west, through miserable
Nebraskan corn fields
and arid mountains beyond.

A sole companion rides along:
a knot of homesick
deep within the belly,
somewhat reassuring.

II

Dancing red and then violet
through waves of clear water,
the light brings life to night.
It seems out of place, as I.

And yet, in a blur of longing
I speed under sodium lights
into open arms of one
who once urged caution.

Words in the dark
so sincere, but unclear
with time and space.
A knot is unwinding.

III

In memory, furled cities unwind.
A golden sunset accompanies
buildings and water, as alcohol
accompanies blood and wit.

In the dead of another night,
mountains and lights reside by
a sleeping metropolis and nervous youth.
A drive for clarity turns murky.

Hope and dream delude, I wander
as a homeless stranger.
The knot is undone,
the rope is taught and fraying.

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