There is the sun, and there is the moon, and there are pink clouds, and there is lightning. There are navy clouds and that is the desert; the city lights are over there, and there are the cicadas. That is where Linda McCartney died and here is the wash where the animals sleep. It is low here and it is green, and there it is high and Saguaro are ( Read more... )

We drive into the park in the dark and the Saguaro stand in shadow like the desert's forest. The house is dark and inside is a slumbering bear so we tip-toe and I brush my teeth quietly ( Read more... )

There is dawn and then the sun comes, the tyrant. And I'd sleep through this if I could.

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4:00 am ( Read more... )

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One last night. I remember my first. Stumbling in the dark, tired. Over suitcase and suitcase and endless boxes and mattress and frame. Toilet running in the spare room and what-im-getting-into. The smell. The turned-around sensation that finds me in every new town, now familiar. The dogs and the kids that occupy this corner of town. Only ( Read more... )

Coffee again.
Cool weather + coffee with honey + long drives with nothing to say.
I make up rap songs. And then I watch the trees.
I clean the house for the revolution and sit in it alone listening to red light winter music.
There is nowhere I'd rather be.

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Over 3,000 miles, so far, 2 weeks. My skin is browner than it's been since I was young; my hair is so light ( Read more... )