That classic Temple of Doom move
When Harrison was sick
that was the way
he got it over quick
Leather and Japanese
Levi’s denim aesthetic
captured impeccably
by Danny Lyons’ 1968
Photo book
Harley Davidson the
Outsiders and black boots
Racing, bikes, and
Brotherhood
Never Abandon Your Friends
A connection
a finger bent back
No chapters, he said. We are people
in a town who know each other.
Drawn to the road
we live by a code
inspired by Brando;

“What are you rebelling against?”

“What you got?”

Fists or knives?
Gather up the men
I’ll take care of you
I got ’em under control
But we both know
I can’t tell that boy nothing
He’s What all the other boys wanna be

FREE

Racing back roads like the Kentucky Kid
Who’d rather die than slow down
A prayer and a bottle
aflame on the ends
Good old boys having fun
I recognize those streets
Ill emblazoned on an Illinois outline
The lightest Curls of smile
Big Baby Blue Eyes
Won’t take off my COLORS for no one
The father son bond no one had
returning to the womb where
I’ll be myself and eat bugs
We’re a club
I’ll take care of you
It was too much power for one guy to have
A roaring swarm of lethal lions
A crackling wolf pack of lightning
A battle of hearts
on a razors edge

sometimes i don’t talk
it may be several hours
i forget my voice

KW
6/25/24

there was this moment 
when I wanted to know 
more about the world
that older high schoolers
rolled dice and shouted
but I didn’t know the word lore
and the internet was still
the Wild West 

so I went to their house 
saw the books
scattered 
on a pool table 
none of which 
they were interested
in letting me read 

so I went home 
empty handed 
and reminded 
to not be so eager 
in front of people 

they confused it 
for desperation
to fit in
to a group 
that didn’t fit in

after Diane Seuss  

Frankly, Brooklyn, you’re too damn much. Elaborate  

cardamom bun and a cappuccino that too easily  

deflates. I was thrifting, now retreating to a couch  

where I feel I must chat up the couple next to me.  

It has to do with Kierkegaard and, of course,  

over-extracts from there. The one, a philosopher.  

The other, a poet. Oh, you too? And have you read  

Diane Seuss as he pulls this gem from his bag.  

Stark, double-spaced sonnets march in royal defiance  

of titles across 130 nonchalant pages. Each ending  

a slap somewhere—the thigh, my heart, often the  

face. Oh, Diane—you crack of black pepper! Such  

serendipities in this unpredictable life of mine. My  

existence, my finishing sugar—you so raw and fine.

I sit in silence.
my atoms remember the reverberation of music and conversation.
I wait on the couch
for internal permission to go to bed.
the balloons will deflate in the corner over the course of several weeks.

When a long day ends, 
as I slide into our bed, 
I feel I’m now home.

I taste the strange prospect of no longer lying

to collect a check.

Anything is possible with a typewriter or guitar

in my hands, and yet I’m stalled
at the intersection of different languages,

looking into wild nowhere

through half-open doors.

Of course flying and falling are different things,

but are they, though?
I’m a tourist everywhere I go.

I belong to the mountains
Though I love to travel and
See the world, this is where 
I will always long to be, this
Sacred place that rasied me
The place that has molded
Every fiber of my being

I feel most alive here, where
I can be my truest self, the me
That is wild and feral, and has
Always been; the me who shies
Away from noise, crowds, and 
Fast paced living; those things
Are not for me, not long term

I prefer the slow quiet of home
Wind rustling the leaves of trees
Cool water winding through a
Holler creek with wild blackberry
Brambles growing heavy with 
Fruist; dewy grass and packed
Red clay earth is where I belong

One day a voice fell

as the wind chimes in rainstorms

wading through pictures

I never went down to the creek that much
I preferred walking down to the river
Watching the barges and the birds
Looking for glitter trash and pretty rocks
Smelling pizza in the evening and swinging on the swings
With my pre-K buddies