Coyotes

Last night I had the night terrors again. M woke and shook me out of them. I was screaming ‘you crazy bitch!’ She thought I was say 'rich' and not 'bitch', but without a doubt I was saying 'bitch', and the dream was all very real to me.
Later in the night I woke up again, this time to the sound of the crying coyotes close by to the house. They were real, there is no doubt about it.

There is...

There is promise in the morning light.

There is a memory of a dense forest with whispering winds.

There is a prostitute on the outskirts of Tampa who won't take 'no' for an answer.

It's Getting Heavy

Only the Penitent Man...

Honey Love

There was a time when you said I was your ‘one and only’. A time when your words blew threw me like a rolling wind. A time when we lived together. We had a small apartment that overlooked a church yard. Most nights we'd sleep on the kitchen floor. I remember you always insisted that it was the most spiritual place in the house. Then came the time when you left. The time when you made it crystal clear that you were done. I watched as you went out that cold November morning to get a carton of milk and never came back. A few hours later I followed after you - thinking to myself that you'd always been a little bit too good for this world.

From Space Mountain with Love

I can see us looking at each other in the back seat of the Buick on the way to Grove City. You had just ridden on Space Mountain and it had really blown your mind. You droned on and on about the twists and the turns, the breathtaking sound effects and laser show. I pretended to be interested, but I was really smoldering on the inside with jealously. I didn't find it fair that you were able to spend your summers at the great theme park and enjoy all of the amusements. All while I had to shovel shit 24/7 at Jenson's County Farm. It just didn't seem right.

The Inheritance

The chainsaw I inherited from grandfather felt smooth and powerful in my hands. It's weight was surprisingly light. The old man must have had a real time with this machine. I could picture him in his sleeveless t-shirt - a yellow bandanna covering his sweaty face as he sliced deep into the great sycamores of our county. I tried to measure the impact he had had on the people in his life. The wild way he would flail about when he was happy. It reminded me of a naive school girl. His giddy high pitched laugh, his bashful blush when complimented, his slack hands fluttering like a baby bird. Most people will recall his enchanting gait - the effortless mince as he carried himself about on his daily errands to town. But the one thing I will always hold on to, the one thing that keeps me in awe - was his unapologetic hatred of all written words and his complete dismissal of any hard facts or 'devil's science' as he liked to call it.

Further Dictation

The limo dropped me off at Arlington square and I walked over to Horton park with sky-high hopes.  As I walked I thought about my dear companions. Some of them can confuse and surprise me in alternating breaths.  They all seem to be dancing down the great conga line to nowhere. I cannot tell if they are enjoying the ride, or just happy to be seen strutting their stuff in the sweet soul train of life. I will tell myself it is the latter, although I really have no idea. I often wait until they aren't looking to do my deepest detective work. Going unnoticed I analyze their expressions and movements. The slight twitch of the jaw, the inflection with which they pronounce their dinner orders. All of these 'observations' go into my data journal. They are later dictated into my tape recorder for further analysis. It is then and only then that they will be placed in my archives - which I can tell you are very well organized.