Southbound towards Tijuana

The way it was and

the way I saw it well

neither really aligned,

which is why I guess

perhaps, I suppose

I’ve made it this far driving

Southbound towards Tijuana

watching my dreams fade

in the rear view mirror

knowing now the utopia I sought

was never bound to be orthodox

or American, or not but

foreign enough to appear genuine,

parked by the halogen glow

of another lone motel, stale air

and stained sheets of a

dystopian relevance

that makes this all seem o.k.

The Road Between

Sometimes all there is to do is drive

and drive, and drive, and drive until

you forget to where you’re going,

you forget from where you came,

and you remember there’s no difference

except the road which lies between.

And when you don’t got the wheels

or means or place to stay

you walk, and walk, and walk until

it all makes sense enough to go away.

And you remember not to worry so much

as in all walks of eternity

you’re a part of this one, and the heartache

pain and blame is all just slapstick.

It’s a grand ole comedy of magic and men

who’d drown before they’d ever dive in.

So the next time I, see-you-me,

I hope we’re swimming in the Milky Way!

Travelers through time and time forgot,

our elephant minds remember.

Topanga

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

October. Topanga Beach

that old hotel

Each drive cross country

I’ve laughed, I have

Cried

Sang

Danced

Purged

Prayed

Lost and

Loved.

Etcetera,

etc…

So if you decide

to drive across state lines,

could you do me a solid?

Stop in Fayetteville.

See if that old hotel

is still standing,

the one I first told her I loved her,

—bedbugs and us—

before sleep took her away

and that cheap wine

nursed me tender

til morning’s

cruel light.

But how will you know

that old hotel? Well,

it’s just like all the rest now

I’m sure, remodeled to dust.

Another ghost among the many,

love’s whisper in the wind.

hills of Mulholland

How far West are you willing to go

she asked in the hills of Mulholland

Far enough I said, gripping the dash

Flooring it through winding curves

she closed her eyes and said

If it’s not over the edge than don’t bother

And that’s when I knew she’d never exist

Hitting the breaks and pulling over

I looked out upon the city

quietly

I was alone