Real Life.

We did nothing that we said we’d do

And everything we said we wouldn’t.

Living like a road trip—

We’re so good at vacations, yet

So terrible at real life.

Moon between Palms

the moon?

but a keyhole

to another room,

which awaits

our arrival—

whenever.

Halogen yellow bursts

of light, turn signals

burn bright, through

white lines of Topanga

Morning sunrise, her and I

up all night, we rise

like silhouetted tree

under the belly of LA sky,

gaze upon a sea of fog

clouds, shower faint

hallucinations of

spontaneous future

Travel