Belfast, Maine.
In the morning,
Tessa eats blueberry ice-cream,
it tastes like shit.
we both agree.
New England & Lyme's Disease Fears
A Tic creeps toward me on the steering wheel,
a scream turns to a swerve on Hwy 1
ashamed of my backbone
Acadias Dashboard mugshot,
judges my distress
with her dauntless stare.
In the evening,
You cook me scallops over maps of Maine
12 scallops & 8 dollars later
we bump hips,
occasionally stepping on toes,
propane stove.
In the Night,
you lay on the ground
acting out "loneliness" by Leonard Cohen
three logs and sheeps wool starts the perfect fire.
I still smell the scallops
the cabarant is gone.
the empty liter sits beneath the bench,
in the rain.
The black book of poetry is wet,
it doesn't matter.
All that matters are Cohens words
he's such a smart guy.
The moose skull above our cabin,
makes me ponder life and death.
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