Intrepid Trips

I envy the free spirits and
empty people

another walking poem

turns out I needed a walk
more than the dog
there are more men and 
there is more trash 
so I don't look down anymore

everything is dead
turns out I just 
needed to go back
to the neighborhood
to see the light on the mountain
the gasoline trees have grown
over the sidewalk
walking in the street instead 
is basically how I feel

--

it wasn't so romantic this time
with my foot on the pedal

--

feel like a spring onion not
unlike the flower blooming 

the train whistle reminds me
I'm just a guy who gets
unsettled, and spooked 
by life sounds and travel 
sleep has been revealing 
such averageness

--

jerking off to the place where 
purple and red meet
crying at the textures 
of those fabrics 
the moisture
the bleach stain on clean laundry
sex near the pond in the rain
no hat

--

I feel like god is kissing me
wake up and a dog
is kissing me remember
that horror story 
who was really under the bed
but really I'm walking again
on the loud gravel
in the warm breeze
and the radio is reading my mind
I'm crying and it always
will be