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BABELON

I feel the most at home on the feeder road.  I feel what I imagine my father would’ve.  Cigarette in lip, Silver Bullet Band on the radio.  Obsolete towers rusting and blowing by, the hungry land still with its jaws open wide.  

Tonight I’m on the 290 turnoff.  Back to the city on the same road I came in on.  A decade ago, with love and a dream in my heart.  Love lives in Rappahannock Valley now and the dream’s gotten older.

I can’t keep doing this. I keep saying so that all I’m really doing is shaming the moment away.  But on the road those words think themselves through, down from the mind and through my stained-shorts.  Wet with her pussy and coffee grinds.  

We’ve moved from catastrophe to catastrophe, only to land in the toxic heap of our collective failure.  In the bowels of American life is a seething moment of devastation.  We only move from this moment to the next, toe-to-toe with capitalism until we die.

The city looms.  It always does.  In 2 years I’ll have lived as long as him.  If I can make it we'll see if I can get twenty more.  In the meantime I keep running, ‘s long as the wind, down the industrial corridor.  Into the maw of the city and lost in a dark wild of the self.

PISS POOL OUTTAKE BY ADAM GLICK PHOTOGRAPHY

THE AUTHOR THANKS THE PUBLISHERS OF BOOK OF MATCHES LITERARY MAGAZINE WHERE THIS PIECE OF FLASH CREATIVE-NONFICTION FIRST APPEARED.

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Featuring Poets:
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And Actors:
Beth Puorro, Circe Sturm, CJ Legare, Cynthia Fray, David Lee Hess, Karnovsky and Tom Procida

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AUSTIN TX