just me and you, baby, i believe everything will be all right one more time, yeah

mechanics
in and out
simplicity -
exhaust of inefficiency-
n a dirty dirty
plane burning cheap fuel
moving us fearlessly over
dusty humid plains.
the apples are just starting
to grow back home
n where we're going
subtleties are
still mystery.
those letters we'll write'll
travel back on
dirtier planes
with the same cheap fuel
n hopes to serve to bridge.
n hopes

i've started thinking about writing poetry again. and maybe doing it a little.

hey, little wild girl, by the ocean, dressed in white. all that's left is your whole life

as we move
a thousand fists in the valley
shaking in revolt at the edges of the
glacier holding ice blue sky

writing in adventure
foot over foot
over piles of salt
n tracks split with slowly
dying oil stained field grass
n tubed trains
rusting through black

we have sun
we have sun
and impressions of
past all over town.