The Blackwood Press DUB 'log

3 hours max
that’s all we have left
meeting friends in Sonoma
gunna have fun gunna rest
glad of a safe journ out West
wait wait
we should pull over and help that man
as we go speeding by and he pushes
his ‘dat brat’ up the street
50 feet from the scenic treat

I just broke the bar return
some how as I was smoking
another flaw of character
will I maintain my integrity?
while I’m here
wanting and living the ideal
there is nothing in my life
that doesn’t have something
good going for it

pulling in to another fill up
further down the snake back
20 cents separates the gas pack
so lines and lines impatient
pulled a maneuver and caused a foray
readjusted and pissed off an old lady
she confronted and took off
switching drivers almost hit a car
out of the blue Rain gave a laugh
and pulled my flips from below her lap
she called me a nut and pinched my butt
and kept on laughing
until the heat got us again
this was right as Cali came into sight
love it love it live this land
green trees and views, lakes and rivers
so much so that we stopped at the Yuba
it was so hot and the oasis
calmed with supple hands to caress our bodies

the water was cool and clear
we walked gentile rapids to a small pool
dipped our bodies
floated in the sun of the evening
reeling in happiness holding
each other a-float
washing the grime of a 3000 mile road

grinding through Nevada
stopping for gas at Winihaha
or Whinimecca

my baby wrapped her arms around my neck
as I supported her weight
and I rubbed the stiffness from her spine

as we were leaving I left
my water on the roof
gently stopped and retrieved it

would’ve been sad to have lost our bottle
baby just passed “Reno with the vitamin D”
creeping back to thoughts last week

my baby Rain asleep on the car seat
stopped for water to beat the heat
got out the car with nothing on my feet

I look and I look and realize
I left my flips standing by
at the gas station forever goodbye

Back cramped sitting fetal
the flats and pudding hills
salts and death, sagebrush and sun
on our backs we continue
across the Mormon paradise

“God, could you imagine
just living out here!”
she said as I thought about
being beaten
by the sun all day and
no shadows in sight

Why when only alone
can I cease to be my own?

M&M’s took the brown color out
few years later
Eminem came out the spout shoutin’
I think about him
and the concepts of sin
government projects to prohibit
and inhibit not just speech
never knowing how close to the crease
cuff down to the sleeve
cuff to cuff down around the knees
never again expected to utter a please

how can there be so many roads
it seems there’s one road
for every person in America
some straight some crooked
some pavement some gravel
some with more signs than others
some with readable lines
some with but barely a few trotters
consistent old friends
and others like interstate dates
rushing rushing rushing
some expand across the continents
some never leave home

drove too far last night
there wasn’t a hotel in sight
400 miles of non-vacant spots
finally ending in Salt Lake rots

The Late Nighter Motel
El Royo Loco Pollo
owned by Koreans
we lucked out total
as a sex worker just got the boot
right as we pulled up
our last hope and try
a two bed smoking room
oven dirty filth

smoke hole sheets
so bad we brought our own
blanket and slept up top
after 17 hrs in the sauna of the car
I stank wanted to wash
but the caked tub
hosed head stopped my tracks
the only thing I thought upon rising
is that it’s lucky the car didn’t get
burgled or broken
$70 waste of poor sleep
but happy to be prostrate of some hours

she walked down to its shores
water
it almost evaporated as soon as it touched
her skin
a little hiss
sounded the four dominant layers
the horizon
now
besides here is there, further, even further
and farthest
consisting of concentric lines of elevation gain
all the way to jagged Wyoming peaks

Where the biggest display of
white trashed play
was through this state
four dilapidated houses
three houses living, not much better
count em’ 8 trailer rat palaces
on and on, rows and rows
on this 2 acre lot
stood thousands of parts
different cars
construction vehicles
and farming implements
all alone
all baking under the filament sun
thrusting themselves
almost heaving with escape
20 feet from a thousands passing

my neck is tense
contained by the car unrelenting
the jerky sticks in my teeth
and the windows rolled down masks
the music
just then a bird met its demise
hit the windshield, sad
but at least it hit in a way so
I don’t have to clean the glass

there is something about
arid lands
like a certain clarity from
lack of moisture in the air
100 miles seems a stones throw
water used to travel here
I see remnants of snake switchbacks
dry beds of meandering paths
If one should follow
where might it lead

to a source?

if stranded, would I die
it makes me wonder
about the homesteaders
not natives, nomadic with
a rich history of tribed families,
immigrants just had themselves
and their own ignorance
to depend, to fend against the bleak
awareness

living alone here where it barely rains
where it’s 90°+ most of the summer
and well below 0° in the winter
and naught to block
the incessant wind whipping
through the night and day
drawing attention to how far they’ve come

whistling
always whistling
I wonder if it drove some of them mad
or if it provided conversation intermittent with silence?

way too hot
sweltering across the grasslands
passing an endless sea of brown and green
yellow of eddies and patches of black
angus

in the distance are monolithic islands of
solitary trees
and on the horizon is 359° of empty sky
one degree sits the badlands stiletto’ed

the burning coal vein sent plumes of black
fifty miles back a mile high

I left to feel the touch of my own skin
now gone by not sitting alone

if there were clouds
I’d see your frame
shapes I helped to construct
and as I look at broken fences and rolls of hay
the sun sucks my sweat
swallowed by the earth

plodding along I can’t help feeling
swallowed by you

I want to have a private email account,
I don’t think we should know each others passwords
why?
because I don’t think I can help myself
like Sharon?
no, I just felt like a schmuck
what do you mean?
You know that girl that kept emailing you
I checked your email
what about the idea of trust?
like I blew it ?
no, like I have nothing to hide from you
so I don’t need to keep you from it
I mean if I am going to be completely honest with you
right?
ya, but I ended up feeling worse for doing it,
I felt like a stalker
I think you’re a little sensitive about it
you had a weak moment
its not like you’ve stalked anyone before

Right?
right.
did you at least get some peace of mind?
ya but,
I see no reason not to give you my password

“You can squeeze my lemons
until the juice runs down my leg.”
Robert
Johnson

water water
water sweat
water drink
little water desert leaks
as water needles keep

Got pulled over already!
62 in a 55
lonely State-ee
wanted a friend
conversation and a warning

Now my nose is starting to bleed
again