For most of the drive there are nothing but fields of soybean and corn that stretch beyond the horizon.

The landscape is peppered with farmhouses and billboards reminding me when life begins and that the end is near.

Whoever says the world isn’t flat has clearly never been here before.

I light a cigarette and inhale as deeply as my lungs will allow. Taking in as much nicotine as possible so that I can stay awake as the scenery rolls on like ending credits. 

There is a buffer between us now.

At least three hours of distance. 

My departure is a defiant and gorgeous act of resistance.

As this bullet speeds forward, cutting the wind with abandon, barreling toward the unknown I whisper a prayer for you. 

Maybe you’ll get out too.

Although my hips may not agree, nothing tastes better than Kentucky cooking  

biscuits cut, smothered in gravy
tomatoes sliced, baked into pie
turkey, bacon stacked as hot brown
pimentos spiced into balls of cheese
peaches canned by a friend’s mother
tea so sweet, it makes my teeth ache
smoked oak inhaled in old-fashioned
cobs of corn pepper pans of bread
green beans snipped on porches
ham hocks simmered for burgoo
beans I don’t set and never will
potatoes sliced thin, fried with bacon
apples from orchards, cinnamon spiced
sausage rolled, baked into balls
cream cheese, powdered sugar
swirl within pumpkin rolls
barbecue brisket melts on the tongue
but devil an egg and you’ve got  

me for life

Unless you are personally being abused,
immersing your mind and heart
in the hatred of others
and mocking/celebrating
the death
of another
                     living
                                 entity

however corrupt the system

is choosing

                      to be part of that system

climbing into a
   

                               submersible 

to its dark,

wet,

demise.

Fire:
A) your eye begins to see the smoke
there is no flame
only the left over smudge
of yesterday’s burn
now a mere horizontal smog

B) all those sexual fits
as if it was the most important
thing in life
being vertical
being released from certain
tensions being being being
a spent bean
buried in dirt

C) the radio says the fire
crews have been called off,
river fog was enough,
from the front porch you cling
to logos & comedy
think of all the Becketts
who dwell on Blue Lick Pike

If you’re tempted to commit suicide,
a friend once told me, you can always
just vanish.

Ah, I said, but I lost my magic wand.

Not that kind of vanishing, dumbass.
I mean just move away, across
the country maybe, where no one knows
how fucked up you are, where you can
disappear in the crowd. If you do it right,
no one can find you. After a while
they’ll stop looking for you, they’ll forget
all about you. It’ll be like you never existed.

My parents wouldn’t forget, I said.
They would never stop looking for me.

Don’t flatter yourself.
Eventually you’d be dead to them,
as dead as if you pulled the trigger.

But living the rest of my life
among strangers! It doesn’t seem—

They won’t always be strangers.
You’ll have a new name, a new hairstyle,
a new wardrobe. Become someone else.
Remember what Rilke said.

What did Rilke say?

You can change your life.

Killing myself would be a lot less work.

But who is it you’re killing yourself
for? It’s not for you.

Who is it for, then?

You know who. It’s for them.
And you know what, fuck them.
Sure, you’re a mess. Sure, you’re making
their lives miserable. But let all that go.
Just pick up your shit and get out of town.
You don’t know where you’ll end up,
but at least you’ll be alive.

The whole world searches fervently
for rich White people trapped in a submarine
exploring the corpse of the Titanic,
another rich White people disaster.  

Rich or poor, each of us shares their fear.  

Temperature at the bottom of the sea
is cold as the shoulder turned to those
who breathe their own thoughts and prayers
and try not to implode.  

Here’s an exercise in imagination.  

Alter the attributes of those in peril
by race, wealth, nationality, gender,
politics, religion, whatever comes to mind,
and compare subtle differences in your gut.  

That will tell you a little about yourself.  

Then do it again, and in each case,
visualize the assets and attention
rushing to aid, or kneeling to mourn,
and where and how they emerge.  

That will tell you a little about the world.  

We were the first on the block to have the technology, so we invited all –
Neighbors
Mom popped corn, dad tuned 25“ zenith console made from  kit –
Gathered
To smell crimson glowing capacitors slowly burn off dust –
Around
Children sat on olive shag rug encircling rays of shining technicolor – 
To view
The playbill: Daktari, Wild Kingdom, and the Wonderful World of Disney
TV

Best days
Worst days
Essence of time distilled to
Eke out the marrow of minutes.
Four letters fill our cups
No matter,
Ours is eternal

when asked how he felt
on turning 27
my son confided
to his septuagenarian mother:
not much time left

It’s just okay growing older.

There’s gratitude for being
above ground, as they say, 
still sucking air,
and sorrow for the friends
and family who aren’t.

But, do I wish I could go back 
and be the one who catches 
the cheerleader as she free falls 
from the top of the pyramid?

Some days. 

Some days the regrets stand out
like steeples against the skyline. 
And the pavers shift beneath
the weight of nostalgic desire.

But, there’s something to be said
for being a seasoned traveller,
of having one’s bags packed
and waiting beside the door:

whatever the next destination is,
it’s someplace I’ve never been before.