Month: September 2003

Sometimes it’s a grace to do nothing.
today (September 5th)
i woke and wandered through dreams
(even now i only have a few scattered images. nothing to tell)
and was jerked awake by Eric calling
i heard his voice on the answermachine and it pulled me to
consciousness
i rememeber actually kinda wrestling with the covers and the cold
grabbing the edge of the mattress to pull and propell myself towards
the phone
we talked a bit
and i was mostly sleepy and giggly and kinda awed.
i’m like that…
…sometimes…
and that was a good wake-up-call.
but i jumped back in bed to hide from the cold
and read some of Little,Big
i did a little yoga
drank my mum’s potion
and ate some apples
by then it the sun had graced the deck
and i moved outside
and started reading the Translator
what is it called
when the cold wave passes through you (me)
and i’m about to cry?
so beautiful
remembering things we all forget
i warmed some pizza and kilbasa (is that how it’s spelled?)
ate it
and then went read more Translator
then moved the logs outside
and swept the garage area
then went to read more of the Translator
the charecter was in book store
and found a collection of poems from the soviet union
during the cold war
in which this story is set…
there was a poem in there by her poetry teacher
(who had recently escaped (been exiled) from Russia
i read this:
After long thought I have at last decided:
I must write to denounce my neighbor.
Evidence both seen and invisible has so accumulated
That it cannot be ignored
And I know what my duty is.
I believe that nothing that has been reported can ever be erased,
And everything unreported likewise will not go unrecorded,
And everything that can be known is somewhere known,
If we are vigilant, and if we have done our duty.
I will tell how once returning home
On an evening when snow was beginning to fall
Seeing the light far off in his window
He began unaccountably to weep
And for a time could not go on.
It lasted only moments and he has forgotten it but there is no denying
it.
I will denounce my neighbor for it is my duty
As smiling boys do their duty to wild birds:
Once, he cut a cabbage in half, and saw that the two halves
Were a deamon’s face and its reflection;
And he wondered if symmetry was the deepest truth about the world
Or if he only wondered at it because of his own division,
Himself a creature struck in two as by a swordcut
One half the inexact mirror of the other.
I will write if I can find paper and a pen
Though there have been sudden shortages lately of these things
Shortages that are certainly someone’s fault
But around here we have done all right without these and other things.
If i can find no paper or pen, I will write in the wet sand
With one arm of a broken pliers;
I will sew letters together with hawthorns and straw,
I will write in spit on the pale undersides of leaves,
I will write with the torn hieroglyphics of moonlight on water.
It is my duty as a citizen not to keep these things hidden
But to bring them to the attention of those who need to know.
————————-
and
as any charecter
at that moment
it seemed so poignant to me.
looked for a bike around the house
perhaps roller blades?
used the keys to open the many locks
and
after dissapointment
to re-lock them.
i packed a bag
bottle of water
book
warm shirt
and left to walk into town
to here
to write.
funny, i feel embarrassed now
had typed out much more
but then cut it and spared ya from it
the gloaming is nearly over
so i will walk home soon
and come back
reborn

Tuesday, 26th, 2003: Montreal to St. Jerome
i woke up this morning after having a hard night’s sleep
restless sleeping partner
strange snoring
beautiful face: like a mouse
(i find so many bearish men looking like mice…)
great for cuddling
not for sleeping
i my dream
he came to me and woke me up in the early dawn
and said
“i’m sorry… but your van is gone…”
i woke
and was slightly worried:
There was Nothing to fear and Nothing to doubt
he gave me directions to where i was going and handed me a few folded
bills
“i have much money i don’t use, i feel good giving it to the last free
person on the earth”
(bad translation or just dominic being blown out of purportion again)
“for gas…”
‘mmm, thanks’
and a hug
and he DROVE ahead of me to the entrance to the tunnel
and off i was on my way to Alain’s…
similarily
when i arrived in St Jerome
i called Alain and he drove to a near-by service station to drive me to
his house
(a preferance when unfamiliar cities team up with language barriers)
He has a glossy blood red PT Cruiser…
(not to mention two Opan GTs…)
Now… Alain is mid forties
smokes like a chimeny
big fingers
big full beard (longer than mine)
big head, shaved
big eyes
big bushy eyebrows
.. and a nice belly
he’s really sweet
but looks more imposing today
in dark clothes
than when i first met him in Montreal a few days ago
dressed in khakis and a white shirt
(cigarettes in each breast pocket)
he bought this big house thirteen years ago
and has been running it as a … half-way-house for invalids?
for more than ten years.
that is to say
there are nine rooms
and seven “mentally ill” people living there.
i arrive and break out my kombucha
and start straining and bottling
making it quick, as the culture doesn’t like tobacco smoke
while Alain finishes preparing the lunch supper
of cold cuts and macaronni salad
and places, next to each, seven cigarettes (from large plastic bag)
and little cup containing … Pills.
i eat as well (warmed up japanese from last night’s meal with Daniel)
and we retire to His room
which features a very large television
and a very small one just above it
(black and white, the little one, showing what’s going on in the room
next door)
gotta keep an eye on things…
now, usually television and cigarettes get on my nerves very quickly
but when Alain and i met in the Cafe Presse a few nights back
we really didn’t nead to speak
just looking at eachother made us laugh and smile broadly
as it was similar here
clouds of smoke
and light chatter
but both of us looking at eachother
not speaking much
but smiling big
he in his big throne
me on the couch
his two dogs came in
little Pugs
Mod-An
and Eva-… eva something
monster grunting pig-dogs
fun.
we went out to sit in the grass by a rusty old stove
he pulled out a joint, which we smoke a little of
which got me talking about herbs and doing yoga
— it started to rain
ahhh, a man who likes sitting on the grass…
but even the other man i hung out with in Monteral also liked hanging
out on the grass
let all be aware: i love sitting on the grass
head stands and summer saults…
we went back inside and i noticed all the clocks in the kitchen (and
there were many)
were all different times
so i started trying to figure out how to adjust them all
— he laughed at me
and i set one to another
and realized now they were both the same
but the wrong time
he pointed to the top-most clock
we set them all to that clock
then he said
“that’s not the real time”
‘what?’
“well, i keep them all about 15 minutes fast in the house… they think
of their appointments only when they see that time on the clock… so
if i set it early, they get there on time instead of making the doctors
wait… it also puts them to bed earlier… i keep the real time in
here…”
we walked back into the TV room and he showed me a clock
but it was differnt thank his wrist watch…
i couldn’t sit in front of the TV
and he asked me about yoga
so i started doing some for him
and for myself
and the tinge of “high” and all that had been happening
i started getting very bright
i turned off the TV
and Alain just watched me
i mentioned Qi-gung
and started doing that
my hands became aflame with blue
white pouring through my flesh
my thigh hurt so much
Phewwwwww
out
and gone
and down
i left my body
went somewhere else…
Everywhere else
rolled back into relationships
thinking about…
— i can’t remember
but it connected with the difficulty of loving
and the missing of loving
the rift between robert and i… eli and i… my father and i… trevis
and i…
no love to brige over that troubled water
and i came back to myself
open eyed
standing in front of Alain
thinking: >>this is the nature of illness and death… back here
again… at a place where love can’t reach<<
we started rolling joints
or rather
i did
and it was only one
coz he had two pre-rolled already
now i don't smoke much
so i put a little tiny bit of hash in (carried from glastonbury)
and a bit of marijuana leaf (from amsterdam)
and some lobelia, catnip, damiana, osha and nutmeg
possibly other things…
we smoke all three
and struggle through figuring out how to make his television order a
movie
we decide to see "The Hours"
(rather, i do… and i don't remember what people had told me about
it… but that it was well made)
and the rain became fierce and the image digitalized
and we laughed
and got up and made tea…
dinner time
more cigarets layed on the table with little ramikins of pills
and he usually gives them a cup of coffee for dinner
i couldn't let him do that
(me being me)
and asked him to offer all of them a choice of coffee or tea
they all took tea!
i made a sleeply blend
and they all retired rather early and slept well
but he assured me
it didn't matter if they drank tea or coffee
not after the pills they took…
after this little well-timed interruption
the signal came back on the TV
— we hadn't missed much.
the Movie was very dramatic
child screaming and flailing as mom drove away to kill her self
great immage of her taking the pills and passing out on the bed
and the ocean rushing in from under it
filling the room
and sweeping her under
the movie slightly terrified me
and gave me the understanding of this:
(perhaps)
the pain of Women
in surpressed rolls
throughout time
gets carried along to their
children
gay sons
are affected by this uniquely
because they are the torturer and the victim
they are the cared for and the forgotten
we all know of the sins of the father
but the quiet pain of the mother
so well (well, not so well) hidden
women wanting to kill themselves
wanting to love the other women
wanting to run away from it all
wanting to love
loving… but being in so much pain
AIDS?
people living for eachother
people useing their lives as leverage to control other lives
people forcing themselves into a shape they think they should be
the weight of years and memories
and
opting out.
lightning filled the sky outside
and we made our way to bed
and it was so nice to fall asleep next to someone
cuddling up
with only the feeling of love and understanding
no pressure from other directions…
we rested well
but for the times Alain woke to smoke…
Today: September 3rd.
i'm sitting in Video Schmideo in Baldwin.
i walked into the store and there was this kid standing at the desk
in camo dungarees
and dreadlocks down to his butt
What?
eat a piece of pizza and get on the internet
answer email and messages on bearwww
notice all the men walking in:
Hunters… and X-Bikers.
hmmm
the mom-and-pop who own this place
come in
and the dread-kidd leaves
the pop has a beard down to his belly
tattoo's all over his arms
and a ponytail pulled back
why can't i find men like this?
well, i could.. if i were willing to pay that price
i keep thinking of seducing him
and the other people that walk through the door
their small beards/ big beards
tattoos from the army
open button-down shirts
i re-focus on my typing.
this morning i woke early plagued by the thought i'd done a terrible
injustice to Robert
that is
that i was given this powerful, yet fragile, man
and i broke him
he loved me
and my heart felt loved
but my mind was a monster
and with critiques and fears and confusions
he crumbled under me
and it's been YEARS
he's been silent all these years
not willing to tell me how terrified and broken he was by me
and me just pouring more at him
more love
more confusion
more fear
more critiques
which, this year, turned to anger
becasue of his silence:
i lost respect for him
he saying all this loving was just a waste of time
and so it was…
now he responded by saying he never wants to speak to me again
which such hateful phrases
it was always there
a voice says
just get over your dad you pathetic fuck
but then my heart hurts…
and trevis…
so i wrote a letter to Eric in my journal
asking him to teach me …
i woke too early
and couldn't go back to sleep.
i read "the snow goose"
i walked around the house
did some yoga
listened to the cd i made at Alain's
melted down the chocolate i got in SF that was less than mediocer
added spices and carob
and the rest of the hash
some ghee and some maple…
fudge?
i made plans with jim boardmen
i went out to check the pressure in the truck
tire almost empty
i filled it up and drove into town…
yesterday was nicer
i woke after one
(after being woken at eight to talk with leo through yawns for x
minutes before passing out again)
and spent most of the day reading and laying naked in the sun
but there is hardly any sun today
mostly gray
trees blowing in the breeze
i'll go for a walk when i get off this box..
and, Louis, write me back and tell me what you think of all these crazy
thoughts.
i don't know my future.

family weekend
i took the time i good to jot some notes about
how it was.
today is sunday. august 31st.
i just got out of bed, though i’ve been awake for a while
i’ve forgotten my dreams…
(mostly, i’m just recalling now that i met xavier as i drove back into
NYC and he met me oustside of my van
and said “guess what i found… ” and handed me my old journal back…
the leather one i made… the mont blanc pen had been lost, though, but
he had bought me an old used one with someone else’s name monogramed in
it… battered… )
but i lay in bed for quite a while
taking the homeopathics my mother gave to me
and rubbing oil into my swollen leg
— the arsineca album was very strong
i felt it immediately go to the rash on my leg and burn
in that pleasant kind of way
— thoughts of robert’s email rolled through my head
though i did my best to quiet it: it’s not important anymore.
the day went on here in a lazy sunday way:
upstairs there was already-cold sausage in a skillet on the stove
and it seemed like most of the people were gone
as i sat here typing, i heard the events of the day unfolding around
me:
the mothers were at church
the fathers were out in the forest
“playing with the forest”
“hunting trees”
the chainsaws were growling out there
and soon my brother went out to help them split wood
— it never occurred to me to help them
but when i walked out i talked with them a bit
grabbed my kombucha
and what else?
it was only moments later that louis came in telling us he’d been stung
by bees
tension rose
and eventually he was taken the the hospital
i kept thinking of the story of two six year old friends
picking black berries
one gets stung by a bee
and is dead (forever)
– the boy in the that story always made me think of Louis
… now i think of louis…
last night, saturday, 30th…
i stayed up late with my brother Louis, my uncle Rick, my sister Kari
and louis’s girl friend, Heather
around the fire rick made
it took a while for me to get out there initially
— i decided to get the computer working and check my mail
and try to discover what the hell was wrong with my leg
in all likelyhood, it’s a spider bite that has, of course, turned over
to infection
now, it’s not pussy or anything
but there is a large red rash spread all the way around my leg
which is probably a strep or staph infection caused by the bite
(weakening my immune system from the venom and pushing bacteria from my
skin and the forest in my leg when i was bit)
but of course, i was derailed a bit by the emails:
robert’s just making me sad he had to resort to being accusitory,
projectionary, and debasing
but it didn’t hurt: it was so obviously said because i… had hurt him
so much
though it made me question how often i really have “betrayed my
friends”
–other emails made me think of bears, of course
so i went to my various sites to look at them
and got incredibly horny and started emailing all sorts of people
‘ well, i’m driving through, and we could meet… ‘
and then felt kinda silly; sugar
and all cousins came in from drinking around the fire
after getting involved in a conversation about yet another person in my
life being diagnosed “diabetic”
i shut off the computer and went out to the fire
but the main part of the day was about canoeing.
that’s what i came here for, i guess.
i woke up kinda early.
cajoled my old cd player (long forgotten downstairs) to play the
barely-burned cd Alain made for me
did yoga to “breathe” and “there there” and “Gypsy” and “amsterdam”,
almost.
the day got going
everything felt so difficult and stressful
-refusing to come to this level of interraction
i became more abstracted from the Men here
the women and i danced between the layers…
everyone was worried about the day being cold
which it wasn’t… really
it was a nice day
we went down the river in a little row boat…
– i wish there was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt.
i was singing that song (the pyramid song)
and my father made a nasty comment about it
mother and syster shut him up, saying he enjoyed it
it was nice canoeing with Kari like that
then i kyaked alone for a while
really enjoyed the whole feeling on the river
very calm
relaxed
despite the human tension
the trees, the green, the flowing water
the lightning flashes of salmon running under the water.
i swam a little
the cold rush of water
while the family stood around drinking beer and smoking cigars
the collage kids canoed passed us
joints and beers and jokes
and torturing the women
of course i started watching the fishermen
the other canoers
the big men in camo
the big men in camo
the long brimmed hats and full mustaches
the big arms and wide chests
the bellies and the blank stares
like dogs tackling eachother in the water
there was no one i could share this with
my mother took the kyack the rest of the way
and upon arrival at the landing
my syster and cousin rushed out and tipped my brother’s canoe
— a family tradition
the boys were all drunk
our clan and the colleged ones
and it was rolls and waves of picking up screaming girls
and throwing them in the water
everyone shivering and cold
we got back in the car and headed home…
after all the showers and tex-mex chip dip and ukranian dinner-feast
we all went down stairs to gather round the TV and watch an old family
vacation video
where i, yet again, smiled a lot, but looked distanced and awkward in
the family
and for nearly twenty minutes
the whole room laughed about my father picking a wedgie and squating to
re-adjust his underwear
insisting he come down to see it
because he’d hidden away from the whole family for two days
very little interaction
apparently he’d been diagnosed with diabetes and his retirement dreams
aren’t blossoming to what he wants them to be
— he hasn’t talked with any of us about this
it’s all been whispered behind his back
which is always in another room.
Friday, august 29
i arrived early in the morning, around nine o-clock
organized some things in my wreckaged van
put bags in on the seats of what i was taking in to the house
but the house was locked
and everyone was still asleep
(them having arrived at four or five in the morning)
i compiled a stack of books
and just started reading one
when my mother and father came out
it was all very friendly and nice to see them
in their sleeping clothes
all of us
early morning
(kinda)
the day was spaceous and open
and i was very tired
what, with this infection in my leg
wracking my body
i was very tired
and often found myself just acquecing to everything
(a good way to deal with my antagonistic family)
we went out for a less-than-mediocre family breakfast
and it seemed like so much of the table talk was a very offensive to my
father
he became quiet and sulky
and i hardly saw him the rest of the day
(bash him behind his back, we all did with aplumb)
it was tiring.
i showered for an hour
shampooing and conditioning my hair with fine potions from my mother
letting the water pour through me
and then collapsing into sleep on the couch
this is vacation
watched over by the seven deer heads, buffalo, elk and the turkey…
everyone arrived
big family dinner
aunt chris hounding me about cutting off my beard
— i told her i’d be glad to if she shaved her head
it almost shut her up quick.
thursday the 28th
we woke very sore
hard to move my leg at all
and very reluctant to get out of bed
it was very cold
and it was only the coughing of Mark from behind my van that convinced
me i should be going
seeing that i had planned to drive twelve hours or something
>> mmmm, be on the road by eight and i’ll arrive… ugh…<<
i gathered up the remnats from last night's fire
Mark's pot
and the burlap bag with two logs left in it
straightened out the mirrors
and by the time he'd put his tent back together
Vic was all warmed up and we were on our way
i drove and drove
cold morning
Mark in his shirtsleeves
chilly, but toughing it out
we drove through North Bay entirely missing any usefull stop
though i'd mentioned "Fish and Chips" and we'd bother been nurturing
and hunger for it for breakfast
and Vic needed gas..
we saw a billboard for "Chesters" and tried to keep our eyes out for it
never seeing it
but we did see a hitch hiker
i swirved over and stopped for him
his name was Brian
and he had a mullet
black cap on
flanel shirt, unbottoned, exposing his big belly covered by a red shirt
and black jeans
big bright eyes
and thin unshaven beard
on a very Red Indian face
very animated
didn't usually hitchhike… tended to walk the forty miles from town to
town often..
he and i and we started hemming and hawing about America
governments
the whole world being fucked up
and being silent a moment as we drove by a bridge that someone must
have grappled over to write
"THIS IS INDIAN LAND"
in large capital letters…
as brian sat behind me talking in his animated voice
and Mark stared determidly in front of him interjecting words
and i rattled off responses to Brians excitment
and his body came into my perception clearly
i could feel his thick legs
the curve of his belly
and the heat began to rise
a smile crossed my lips and i let it go
Brian told us the perfect place to get fish and chips
"all you can eat… on thursdays. my father in law took me out there
last week…"
shifting around the conversation on how to get there
i handed him a pen
and he set out to draw us a map to get there
upon arrival in HAGAR
(" like the viking? "
""No, that guy had two G's and the little points over the A.. "")
he gave us the map
with all the details we could possibly use to get us to "Teklenburg's"
"and he waitress's name is Karen…"
he told me about his wife's illness: sever rhumatoid arthritis
i gave him a kombucha culture
he was very excited
said "maybe i'll see you again out there on the road"
and Mark and i watched him saunter off down the arm of the intersection
as we looked over our maps to see how long it would take to get to
Sudbury
and breakfast
wasn't long at all
we got there found Techlanburg's easily, with the help of his map
(perfect)
and Karen told us it was usually tuesday that they had the
all-you-can-eat
but she'd give it to us..
and
recommended a great beer
OHHH
(so mark said he'd drive after lunch)
and the place was owned by a dutch couple
the wife came out and served us and i nearly bursted getting to say to
her
"danku wel"
—
just after leaving town
mark picked up another hitch hiker
and eli called
we talked about the journal first and formost
though the excuse for calling was the computer
which, after three disconnections, he admitted wasn't important
is this maturing? or giving in?
are these the same things?
when i just have to shrug and say
"i don't understand friendship"
i don't understand love?
i don't understand family?
let it go
let it play
i was on the phone with Eli and Eric
while the next hitchhiker was in the car
(carl?)
he left
and left his cigarettes in there..
just ten minutes later
Mark stopped to pick up another..
well, group.
these two kids, girl/boy
and their dog.
who had gotten into a skunk recently
and the girl, Harvey, had got into it too…
Justin, the boy, just smelled sour
and it was then that i questioned just how helpful i should be
yet again..
just through the first town
the van started screaming
and i told mark to pull over:
a belt was smoking
he turned off the engine
the belt was melting
fortunatly
there was a auto shop just a minute's walk away
and they told us to pull up
and told us not to worry
"it's just the air pump
just a stupid pollution thingie
look man, i've been running mine without it for eight years"
and he showed me his engine
"shit, i need to get a new alternator belt on there…"
so onward we drove
and the kids sat in the back and talked
but they smoked
and read johova's witness mags
and complained about the world
and jumping trains
and cops
and
it started to rain
just as we pulled into Sault Sainte Marie
i felt bad about leaving them
but not bad enough to say goodbye.
and rush off into the rain through the city
to the beautiful bridge leading to michigan
i called my mom
and told her about my leg
and asked for salves or homeopaths or something
she called Val
who said it was a spider bite
and helped clear it
i also asked my mum to pray for me to get through the customs with
little problem
and it worked…
the threw a dog to sniff around in my van
and the dog guy asked me
"when was the last time you smoked in your van?"
' smoked what? '
i said, not falling into such insinuations
"well…"
'kids were smoking cigarettes in there today
but i don't smoke them
and haven't smoked any marijuana in my van'
"liar"
'fuck you, then'
another pitbull beside me said
"what'd you just say?"
'he called me a liar… and he doesn't even know me'
i was through in about a half hour.
i haven't ever smoked any marijuana in my van.
the sun was setting
as i got over the Mackinaw bridge
which was beautiful
more beautiful than the Golden Gate by far
but so far away
and so less seen…
my parent's weren't going to be at the cabin by 11 as they said
so i took my time at overlooks and rest stops
(nothing going on to speak of)
but such beautiful vistas
but i was too far away as the sun went down
and my sleeping patern was to twisted
i began to swerve off the road by midnight
only 20 miles away i drove down a dirt road
and slept in a farmer's field…
Wednesday, august 27th.
woke this morning in Alain's bed.
it was about ten, i think
so lazy
and alain kept saying
"oh, don't worry, you can stay in bed, i'll make breakfast"
but he kept comming back and chatting with me and carressing me
but not sexually at all. he was being very loving and friendly
so great to see him, big shaved head and huge full beard
eventually
i had to tackle him
cuddle him up
wrassle him into position
and dance with him
such love and playfulness and beauty
it was nearly noon by the time we finally got out of bed
and then i started trying to make a cd
1 everything in its right place (christopher o'riley)
2 little kids (ladytron mix) (kings of convenience)
3 martha, my dear (beatles)
4 can't get enough of your love (barry white)
5 dreams (fleetwood mac)
6 bridge over troubled water (simon and garfunkle)
7 breathe (telepopmusik)
8 there there (radiohead)
9 gypsy (stevie nicks)
10 me and bobby mcgee (janis joplin, alain insisted)
11 let down (christopher o'riley)
12 on the way to the club (blur)
13 amsterdam (coldplay)
14 wolf at the door (radiohead)
15 out of time (blur)
16 taxi ride (tori amos)
17 julia (beatles)
18 parallel lines (kings of convenience)
but it, of course, didn't work
we surrendered and went to breakfast at Le Petit Boudon
and i ate a lot a lot
and we made jokes
and the waitress….
well, it was beautiful to see a kinda white-trash/red-neck/lovin french
woman.
and it was past four by the time i left
and i had meant to be on the road by eight!
so i would certainly miss meeting Christopher in Ottawa
(whom i'd met in Province town…)
and it was only an hour of driving
(beautiful rivers and rolling hills)
that i stopped for a hitch hiker named Mark
who also was from Indiana
"never expected to have another Hoosier pick me up"
he was from Greencastle
just an hour or so north of where i grew up…
in Zionsville
we talked about small rivers
and forests
and New Mexico, where he'd been going to school
and Alaska, where Mark was heading
after hitchhiking across canada…
we talked about the mississippi
when mark graduated from highschool
he and some guy
went to minnessota
and canoed down the mississippi river
all the way to New Orleans
… Adventures.
so this year…
he's taking a year off
from his first year of school
"hmmm, yeah, i don't want to go back.. there's just too much else to
live… but i feel i'd severely damage my relationship with my parents
if i didn't finish collage…"
we drove til all the light was gone from the sky
mark at the wheel then
and we parked by a little swamp
started a fire
(by pitchwood and found kindling… it took the both of us to get it
going…)
he made mac and cheese
and i added a salsa my aunt had given me and i had doctored up with
fresh garlic and cayanne pepper…
talked til it was late
me rolling him herbal cigarettes
(lobelia and damiana and nutmeg and osha and mugwort and mullen…)
i walked to the road looking for mars
who didn't look so orange as i knew him
more bright
more white
standing in the middle of the highway
then the semitruck crested the horizon
and i was bombarded by much more light
much more noise
from both directions
i crossed the road
and pissed
waiting for the silence and subtlety to return.