Yesterday I took
A day off and drove
All the way to Berlin
A seven hours roadtrip
(Which I made in four)
Like the ones I used to do
Back when we were young
Just because you said that
There'd be some party and
It'd be cool if I showed up

Yesterday I walked
In the pouring rain
Around the Tiergarten
Like we did so many times
Because you were having
A tough day and wanted
To talk about it

Yesterday I've had
Some coffee in our old
Place in Prenzlauer Berg
And I swear that for a
Moment I could glance
Across that familiar table
Your emerald green eyes
And the wild flames of
Your red hair

I know it's kind of stupid
Keep coming to this place
Now that you're happily
Married and with children
Living half the world away
In America

But those memories are
The closest I'll ever be
Of seeing you again
And for that Berlin
Will forever have
A special place
In my heart

and I stare out of the window
as the sunlight hits the car
see the shadows on the mountains
now they're closer, now they're far

Why are the houses languishing
well, there's no one inside that's full of life
insects and reptiles
eat away at the decaying
little sounds
dust of obsolescence
piled up as wind cuts across
the parts have become so dull
from lacking a mind and soul
within
beauty of humanity deadened
by decadence
a void
corrupts the ignorant whole
I tried
to open the closed door
but i'm afraid
the locks on it
too rusted and corroded
if any life were to be breathed into the house
all doors have to be broken down
i have tried
to unlock the stone of wisdom
with the key of my thought
but i fear the medicated brain
is too rigid and tight
if the flotsam
is willing to be reborn
i will
pour some enlightened spirit
into the sensible nerves
the sun in the sky is celebrated
because the shine of it gives forth
life
the flower on the ground is too
because it's manifest
there's always a readiness
to absorb
that source.

mountains shadow,
the dark canvas of the sky
spotted with rhinestones-
starry winking fireflies
as the dreamy drifty clouds
are shyly shifting by,
the strange symphony of a hum & buzz
& the distant crickets cry
awakens other-worldly feelings.
Vaguely hypnotized by its mellow
cruising down this lonely road
mesmerized as the moons gaze follows-
me, sat at the back with the window rolled down
as the nights cool breath gently sways the weeping willows....
I want to live in this moment for eternity
In this nocturnal roadtrip to infinity.

our conversations are all in blue.
i try not to mind it,
like i try not to mind the hair falling out of my scalp.

you're just busy being unattached to me.

i make excuses for you as easy as i double text.
they flood my head like mantras,
but not the kind that make you feel calm or loved.
it's more like telling yourself you won't throw up after the twisty roads up the mountain.

but i want to see the view with you.

so i keep sending you blue paragraphs filled with 'sorry's and 'i love you's.
you send the same grey 'i love you, too's.
and we call it communication.

i'm the driver and the passenger
the carsick kid trying not to throw up and the toddler asking over and over if we're there yet.
but i want to see the view with you.
would it hurt to send a grey paragraph? or ask me,
in your best whine,
if we are at the top yet?
throw up in my lap. drive me crazy.

ask me for the aux cord and i'll give it to you.

i'm done listening to this album on repeat.
i want to hold your hand without worrying if your fingers are numb and you just don't want to hurt my feelings.
this car needs more you.
and i don't mean the you dressed in grey half messages that you probably rewrote three times.

i need the you that talked about faking our deaths together
like it was the only part of life worth living.
wearing that laugh you always say is too loud,
but really it sounds like music.
i like my music loud and angry.
and ****** at your parents for being expired versions of themselves, always expecting you to be organic.
i need that you like i need a vice.

because that's who i want to see the view with.

Take me back to a different hotel every night and living out of a suitcase. Getting comfortable in our naked bodies around each other; comparing breast size and stretch marks—examining ourselves like the men who’ve carelessly fondled us before for our likes and dislikes. Sharing a bottle of lukewarm tequila in the world’s smallest bathtub and then I sing you to sleep. Highway cars buzzing past and there’s only one road to get lost on, but we manage it every single time. Your car becomes a dressing room at gas stations where people stare with disapproving glares and worry for the safety of their wallets; because we don’t belong here but we laugh—still drunk from the early morning hours and just trying to find the next check-in spot for the night. There never is a real destination but home always seems too close and we both hate that part. It doesn’t feel right when it ends or when I have to crawl back into my own bed without a time frame to be out by in the morning—before the housekeeping maid comes banging on our door,
yet again.

---

A bag of clothes, a box of books, another smaller box of letters and photographs & an old guitar are sitting in the backseat.


It's 3am and she's driving through the Blue Ridge mountains. All the windows are down, warm summer air billows in and sends her hair dancing. 


She doesn't know where she's going, but the warmth calls to something in her blood so she heads South. 


She'll probably end up on a beach somewhere in a little East Coast town. Maybe she'll sell flowers and jam by the roadside or find a little bookstore that needs help, she'd wash floors all day if she had to and wouldn't think to complain. 


It all feels like freedom. 


The air smells like rosemary and thyme that grow wild along the roads. The stars are so bright she can hear them breathing. A jackalope dashes across her headlights & is gone before she has time to turn her head.


She parks in the back corner of a gas station somewhere in the Carolinas & stretches her legs out the window, takes a few sips of whiskey and reads a while before she falls asleep. Lightning bugs dance in a nearby field to the voices of cicadas. 


Somewhere a voice is screaming, glass is breaking, sirens pierce the stillness of a quiet street, but she doesn't hear it & she never will again. Even in sleep she is smiling.

no idea where i am and
no idea where i am going
just a tank full of gas
and the patter of rain
just me and time and space
no plans, no destination

The irrefutable motto
Spiraling overhead
Like buzzards
Is your wife's voice
Reminding you instead
That the directions you failed
To ask for at the last filling station
Several hours ago
Have once again
Ruined a family vacation