How would you like to be on top of the cliff?
The one tree
with the best,
loneliest view.

How to remember a past year.
How to,
commemorate citrus burns and
the use of a pocketknife to cut pineapple,
and cutting pineapple,
and eating it on sunny, uneven brick paths.  
How to--

channel the extravagance of buying blue moons
from a local, local bar on a strictly dishroom paycheck.
How to

describe, being in the backseat, amidst new faces
amidst familiar songs and then stopping to observe
obscure insects that glow.
How to!

be without, pure two-wheeled freedom
on a path, proudly engineered and purring
toward a destination, marked by green.
Being alone,
so happy and so sweet.
How to?

The same "sweet relief" with honey,
on the same, quiet deck-porch-room.
Even when it rains.
How now?

Eyes, and oxytocin.
Late, late meetings.
Early morning greetings
and taking a liking to.

Ritual is not specific to any race, ethnicity, culture, way of life or person.
Tradition, if not engrained and present, is despair.  
I remember moments in youth:
pungent, exultant,
bike riding sand castle building,
good old fashioned fun.  
I remember some moments of ten to fifteen years ago, I remember moments from 6 to 7 months ago.  
I've forgotten some.

I opened, read, and placed the money aside
from graduation cards.  I was surprised when I opened a card
received from campus ministry leader with no money, only a sweet note.
I counted the money happily, twenty dollar bills, fifty dollar bills, seventy-five dollar checks.
I checked my text messages, every seventy-five seconds
and heart skipped, slipped a beat when my mother calls and says
she's driving to Canada, she's got to get a way.

Really she's locked herself up at the Econo Lodge behind Big Boy's
only, approximately, eight minutes away.
And we drive up, and she presses her face to the motel window, door locked secure, and I press my hand up to the window.
But she won't let me in.  
She consumes, she consumed.
But she wouldn't let me in.

When I come home from my first year of school
I will tell her
I am an actress, too.

I know some folks.
They sink down.
Sinking dirt into the ground,
landslide and erosion.  
Buildings, structures depressed and falling in.
Make yourself bigger, I advise.  
Open your eyes, blink quickly between the palms of your hands,
face a window, if it helps.
See the light.
Did you see the light? I did.

Repression,
hold.
Hold.
Keep holding,
hold on tight to your bike handlebars.
Hold on to the straps of your book-bag until
your elbows cramp up stiff.
Hold on to your blankie,
rub it all over your body.
Inhale,
do not suffocate.

Exhale,
and feel good and bright.  
You've done something good for yourself.
Feel good about that.  
You've just brightened up your whole house.

Day 1
We'll maneuver down your ecosystem driveway onto
Latcha; not on red-spray painted bikes, but in maroon Civic.
Lunches packed, cooler stacked, en route for 8 hours [we reckon].
I presume five hours away and three hours to Waterloo my dad will wonder about our E.T.A, and I will say, "we are about three hours away."
We'll have fought over D.J. and agreed on the Stones,
but you'll know the words more than I.
But we'll save money and lodge ourselves at a
friend's house with the same last name as a vacuum.

Day 2
9 hours to Rapid city, South D
hopefully to see the faces of old men carved into a big old rock.  
I'll look out the window and quote lines from "America" by Simon
and Garfunkel and be the best ******* co-pilot that ever was.

Day 3
Country Motor Inn, drive on, to the Country Motor Inn!
Hey,
now's a good time to take that Adderall.  

Day 4-8
To the coast,
to hike around the area,
to rent bikes,
to drink hip-hoppity PNW brews with yous
and you're new, cool roomies.  

Day 9
South,
Southwest
Airlines.
Clenching the arm chairs,
would rather take a 74-hour train ride
than be up in the air.

The direct, circular reaction between chemistry and electricity
gestates a cyber-space that pretends to know something
about autonomy.  
Unfortunately, the website sparks the Shakespearian within me.
Unfortunately.  It translates and relates with the mission not to deviate,
but as I read "O Villainy!" my eyes glance suspiciously at the sidebar propaganda:
Don't make these makeup contouring mistakes,
there are nine bases in hooking up now,
celeb quotes that will make you feel better about yourself.
"O Villainy!"
O, say this device don't know squat about me!

The slow **** of an ice-breaker
spearmint or cinna,
requires the utmost concentration.
The discipline to savor, the fight not to bite,
the earnest sensitivity to flavor,
like the first glance of attraction,
attention reeled in,
and action unsure and disabled.  
Bite too quick on the line, too soon hooked and released
but bite slow and revel  their favour.

You think, but you don't think when you walk
step by step, heel over heel, toe to toe, forward in the forest.
You think, cause you can't think about much else
'cept your next step, its the step that comes next.
Provided there's a path, trek steadily
**** the hills, engrain your heels
in the plush, pebbly mud, positioned sneakily
under the leaves.  

Presence, breath, refresh,
relieve, unwind, unconscious,
maybe even semi-aware of the subconscious,
slow down, speed up,
listen.
Hear!
Understand, demand [passively] your peace,
your piece of the land.
And you're a piece of the land.