Back on the coast to lead this parade.
To taste the grapes, refocus the lens.
Run my hand across a land I missed
the first time through.

The Mojave, I worshipped your eyes
beads of your sweat
behind the darkest sunglasses.

Up highway 1,
we slept like babies in such a sad love.
It’s the agonizing drive I was craving.
The summer move to somewhere new.

You’ve hinted that you’re married now.
A college girl still on a budget.
In a faulty tent beside the Grand Canyon,
I tried to pry around your vagueness.

You were a soldier not letting me through.

I’m at a new hotel, 2 blocks away
from where we’d see each other soon.
Where I had no compassion for who you made sick
back home.

I became unavailable,
neither of us could afford
long distance.
Only free drinks, stolen cigarettes,
I will find a way across that bridge.
I’m headed north,
this time without your sputtering car.
This time you’re staying where you are.

04/02/2005

Posted on 04/02/2005
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