RED SIXTEEN.

HWY 80 HEADED WEST TO RENO

Sky scraper lights, 

escalators

baby boomers on coke

rich testoseron on gin.

Cheap cigars, 

ACID

slots

Diamonds & 7s

Shrieks of laughter

excitement 

When we win 

big

Defeat.

Roulette,

free champagne 

Lucky #

Red Sixteen

Big Win 

*Break*

All on black?

another cigar

lost it all 

the ball falls on 

RED SIXTEEN 

5 AM

NO money to show for shit

gambling lesson 

from Reno hell,

Johnny Cash

sings us to sleep
the sun rises. 

"I shot a man in Reno

Just to watch him die"

HAZE.

 Flaming River Gorge, Wyoming

(headed south west)

Bare Skin & Sage Brush

The pungent fragrance 

lures her off the highway to heal.

It is there she'll shed her skin, 

ever so similar to the Prairie Rattlesnakes 

amongst her.

The heavy haze holding her spirit prisoner

is forced out with her clear mind,

As she transforms out of fine dust n smoke,

The desert haze knows to meet the horizon.

"we will shed many skins &a we will learn many a times"

-L

SCALLOPS & COHEN.

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.

DUSTY DETOURS.

New Mexico, HWY 285 

Malia and I had just began to head South from Taos, 

When the sun summoned us from the forever asphalt and it's flat yellow lines to the Garden of the Gods.

But the barb wire spoke volumes against its rays, 

forcing us forward  with nothing but a glimpse of a soft moment in time.

The road became our backdrop,

creme silk on dusty detours.

Our hearts racing in case of stains. 

In this very moment we had not a single notion of what our future would hold,

but soon we would have stories to share, 

stories to light a lost souls way. 

Through doors of shacks, motels, and teepees

roads of asphalt, dirt, and dust

we had formed a bond as strong as clay.

Malia, my light.

my home.