sort of attitude only
results in question
sort of attitude only
results in question
“I guess the difference is in that of a whistle pig and a woodchuck”
, I said, “that’s a bullhead and a catfish.”
Graceland played while I looked at Brahma steel toe
and I thought of the McCandless quote about
mans spirit coming from new experiences.
and when I hear that Hollingsworth track,
“up over the hills ain’t even really that far”
I think of how coasts and inland smell different.
Vedder wants a last breathe that he won’t let out
which I get but there are guys who just want to keep breathing.
So I picked my car up in the morning, humming,
“I”m going to Graceland, Graceland”
and I packed for Brookville, Brookville,
and I burned CD’s for the drive,
thinking I’m bound singing to Graceland.
I did 80 to Clarion wondering what I’d eat for dinner,
thinking of the day before, doing 60 down 219 into PA,
wondering the same thing.
And when I woke up I did calisthenics and
pulled a muscle in my thigh a little,
and had bad powder eggs and a high toasted bagel.
sometimes I find myself not liking what I wrote,
I change it.
I got lost in Clarion and thought about dinner.
I notice myself wondering how far I will go.
My fortune cookie said,
“Everything is possible;
just not so probable.”
and I guess that’s pretty true.
The best part about is driving is just going and going and not thinking about anything in between but what’s in your line of vision and a full tank. So you go on and on and stop in from town to town but for the most part you just have lots of thinking time. Luckily you got Howlin’ Wolf on CD and 10 tracks to go.
I really made it to Pennsylvania,
embracing the knowledge in trucks.
So I parked in the bank parking lot and walked down the the street corner, one big Brahma step at a time. I opened the glass door and 34 heads all confused on who disrupted their card game turned. I walked through them, toward the back of the room and looked for someone who looked in charge. I knocked on the fridge behind me and heard a “Hello!”. A filthy old man showed himself and he knew I was not from town.
Flew up on 66 N in a little snow storm and got home for a two day stay not long before midnight.
I woke up and thought it was Sunday.
There’s no brakeman slowing down,
just whole and oholy luck that I’ll stay on track.
accidentally gave the waiter a two twenties on a $25 bill,
thought it was a ten.
Lou Reed, Tom Waits, Lord Buckley,
gotta get the coffee ready for morning.
I sleep with the fan on high.
Might have got a fiber glass sliver at work.
training for the future,
invent it then manifest it.
this locals dog pissed in the front of the shop today.
I broke the tire shop padlock.
this professional driver knowledge is getting the best of me,
got 6 oil related hats and was excited.
I know trucks past ’07 more than likely to have synthetic differential fluid than older models and a mudflap can ruin a drivers payload.
itching to get a drink.
I know what a drivers face looks like
when his hood falls off his tractor.
I know I really couldn’t call people all day.
I know $1.50 a week/unlimited coffee is a deal.
Sat and watched the waves hit the shore from the third floor balcony
of the beach house, wondering where the clam was that I tossed back in from
the shore. The rain pounded the bay window from the couch within, four feet up
on the coffee table.
my friend said once, “I’ve been working. I get to see the sun rise everyday. I think that’s pretty cool.”
I thought that was pretty cool.
we had talked and talked deep brooding thoughts before,
as some people talk and talk deep brooding thoughts.
but this off the sleeve comment really showed just how delicate life can be.
It’s strange stepping back out of town and watching it from a distance.
I told them, “that’s something I take real serious”
and they believed me. Wild.
I made it home and sat on ideas for two weeks,
I just want to sit with four feet on a coffee table and breath in unison.
prose or poems.
o’holy find love!
move toward a goal.
what was that she said?
drugs. drugs. drugs.
what did I say to you?
I miss the mother and son who sat behind me, my seatmate, the comfort.
No one makes noise from Roc to Cuse. The Lady who took my seat eats
crackers quietly and rubs her finger tips in the aisle. She flips vanity fair reading
the ads and plows another cracker into her beaked face.
15 minutes till noon, when I’ll allow myself to start drinking the booze I brought along in my bag.
9-10 more hours until Boston. I bought the ticket, I’ll take the ride.
she refuses to
hold conversation. I hope
they sell bottled wine.
All stops went quick, hoping to get into Boston early. Slept from Albany to Schenectady.
Too many hits of tequila in the bathroom. Just left Springfield, headed toward Wooster.
Had noodles and coffee to burn off some liquor. Both were terrible.
Dinner lady, forty something, black and from Chicago.
Hope to find a sandwich shop in Portsmouth and a good coffee and maybe flowers.
I want time to sit and enjoy a Marlboro.
I want to go to
Pennsylvania to find the
knowledge of truck stops.
I’m not exceptionally old,
but I feel like I’ve met all the types
of people there are to meet.
I sit in this training room and
look around at all these faces
I’ve seen before. There’s the loud Italian
girl, she has so much to say, the young wanna-be druggie boy
(oh he’s just so mysterious), a mother beyond
her prime, an elder who should just retire,
a man roaring about his joyous divorce,
two gossipers at my table – trying to figure out
why I didn’t talk for the first week but now choose to
ask and prod at topics less discussed (I might be at this job
longer than I hoped), a girl with a pinched nose whose mother
never yelled at her, another with tattoos and opinions because
she “sometimes goes out for drinks with friends” and other times
makes comments just to look out the corner of her eye to see if
anyone still cares, and of course someone gives her that attention she craves,
there’s a man with a bald head, quite but pretentious, another with military boots
who drives his motorcycle into work and talks about
how he was a barber, one trainer loud and old and
counting the minutes until her smoke break,
another loud and young, who “hates having the serious talks,
but they have to be had,” and a little queer human resources
man who doesn’t come around much, an old mail room man,
who I’ve never heard spoke, a security guard who focused too much on what
you see above the desk line, and all
their doubles and triples, and me – watching and biding my time.
Old trees and iron,
Take me where you took them all,
I’ll breathe in and love.
“dropping words like bombs,” that’s a classic cliche,
no, we’re tying meaning to verbs and forgetting
prose works best in conversation,
spontaneous if under the right influence.
the last thing on my to-do list was “write”,
the five things above it were “find a job”.
He’d say things like “groovy” and make me tell him what I’ve been up to
when all I wanted to know was the things he’d done in his life.
I saw him once in a suit, and he told me it would be the only time.
about 6’2″, or so, dark short hair, quick on the go but carefully slow,
I think of stopping over every time I pass his home.
I left for a day but came back the next morning,
a futon wasn’t going to cut it.
one step at a time, bud.
I know a girl who’ll travel 400 miles to see me,
and I’ve done the same. who told me I was her best friend,
and I’m beginning to think the same. She said to me once,
“you can stay home and write all day and I’ll go to work, that’ll
work just fine.” But I guess that’s the thing
with myth – you never know when it’s true.
I started this bit two years ago,
I’ll try again in another two.
Seeing a clouds shadow from the ground compared to a clouds shadow from the sky are two vastly different things.
I wonder if Kerouac would have flown more if he had the chance.
Everyone needs to love something,
or at least be loved.
I meant to write this before –
I have trouble writing when asked to write,
or even when I want to write.
It’s something that just comes,
when the day before I had planned for sun.
The poetry of ineptitude.
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