LINE OF PAINT

There was a time we gave up living 

 just to live...

We would land in places 

No morning was alike, 

or sunset the same pastel.

Only a palette,

a cosmic palette hoarding shades

 of never-before-seen colors.

It felt like a perfect dream, 

but a dream it wasn't.

It was a lucid reality,

interrupted 

by the occasional 

crank of a wrench 

by a man named mechanic.

Out there on the road, 

no days blend together.

Each day is its own

line of paint.

DOORWAYS.

cracked skin,

cracked scars.

cracked doorways,

portals to their ponder

conversation of 

affirmation & criticism 

bounce about the light

Vulnerable notions  

vanish like rabbits in top hats,

My darling witches,

 Magicians to their own hearts.

"Always & Forever My Adelaide's & Laveau's"

MARS.

Bonneville Salt Flats,

30,000 acres of Mars near the Border.

Cherries & berries 

twirl across our rear view mirror

Kelsey shakes her head and sighs 

at yet another red handed window visit.

I grab the sheriff's wrist

in hopes he won't reach for the lead foot warrant 

out for my arrest.

dishonest compliments stumble from my mouth,

followed by more lip sweat

&

 a tip of the hat

"carry on"

upon entering, 

I was assured a UFO would hit us dead smack

in the middle of both our brows

we sit silently,

our thoughts understood by one another

We crave flames to keep warm 

 but more-so to cast shadows on the land 
so we don't feel so alone.

NIGHT COMES QUICK

MORNING COMES QUAKE

The salt crust trembles beneath us 

shaking our eyes awake, 

to trace the trail of black smoke 

that exits the rockets above us. 

CISCO.

-Cisco, Utah-

"A barber shop for the living & a playground for the dead"

It was a hot, dry morning... 

the sun was no kisser either, 

it was no gentle beam of light,

scraping our skin, 

turning our flesh to weathered western leather.

In the afternoon

I watched Eileen take my lovers identity with a shitty clippers, 

minutes after I watched him take hers, 

willfully losing themselves in RV mirrors together.

I did not know much about this woman,

I just knew this was her town...

little did i know,

her town would soon speak volumes of her to me.

 by the end of Cisco,

I would have lived and breathed my dear Eileen.

However, 

I truly believe 

not all sacred moments that come to man are meant to be spoken of,

but are to be kept atop the rocks alongside river bend,

or with the cougars in the shadow of the unknown.

"with every shooting star I wished a wish I'll never say."

with every shooting star she'd gasp, 

and then we'd lay"

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.

NATURE'S PENDLETON.

The cliffs were quiet, 

Common Gulls at eye level.

The afternoon light contrasted the primary colors, 

Colors only meant to be captured in great paintings or film. 

Our cameras ate rolls of film, 

like the irish guzzled stew and rolls.

Every 30 minutes, one of us a took a knee to pocket a canisters containing clips of colors, we would only hope to later posses photographs of.  

  
Tall beds of soft, moss-like grass covered the 
eroded shale & sandstone with colors, dubbed as Nature's Pendleton.  
--
I watched their bodies lean just far enough over the edge to make any passer-by gasp in fear..imaginations wandering to premontions of sudden death. 

Enduringly observing the women I walked alongside, 
carelessly doze off in scurvy grass while picking the petals off Sheeps Bit. 

The sun eventually decided to nod off with each of them on the cliffside, but their eyes had now seen a light too great to ever let leave... 

They ran as fast as they could to the very end, as if they would never see the sun again, as if it would never awake & the moon would hold the colors captive forever.   

 Cliffs Of Moher, Ireland