There’s Newark, New Jersey also to the left, stumpy and shabby, as my father drove north in 1992 to Jackson Browne on Light FM.

They want to know more about when I was young.

I reach for her hand and she withholds it.

Our pupils dilated, our chapped lips moistened, our chilled feet tingled.

The Minotaur misses his supper. 

On AI.

My college girlfriend broke up with me using Fergie’s “Big Girls Don’t Cry."

This is what she’s been looking for, maybe, right under her nose the whole time. 

the lookdowns and i have an understanding.

Have you ever felt like a dead man walking?

Some things just need to scream.

 Are you still with me?

On schedules.

Being ragdolled after my spectacular wipeout, lucky to be washed ashore with lungs that still breathed air after being pumped free of water.

After Michael Stipe’s & Karen Elson’s cover of Ashes to Ashes.

You turned, the center of the universe, moved with the sunlight.

We melt in indecision, but the road solidifies beneath our feet.

Each day a run-on sentence from the one before. 

Today’s sweat cannot retrieve lost blood.

On crossing borders.