Find community amongst the dives
where the masses drink
like sailors,
sink like ships.
The wayfarer's watering hole, where
spirits stain scripture
written on bar napkins
and patrons serve
as a quiet reminder,
that I sold my megaphone
and bought a butane lighter.

In these moments you were nothing but magic
-- gypsy dancing from suburb to suburb,
-- stripping yourself of your shoes,
-- feeling the earth directly beneath your feet;
Whispering secrets that kiss the soft-singing lips of the wind,
the elements of my earth

and a story I can only try to tell.