“Little Lover”* by AC/DC blasts over crackling speakers.
Cracks in the road assist my flat tire
in softly, yet steadily
pulling me off course to the left.

Rocks roll down dirt banks into clean spring rivers,
motorhomes full of smiling faces go the opposite direction
in no rush
until they slingshot past as we pass.

I nod at humble well-kept country abodes as my prototypical
small-town family dream fades with the sun behind the Kootaney mountains - I bid Farewell.

I bid farewell,
to my home & motorhomes
to similes & metaphors
to rocks that roll
and to the little love
I’ve shared with only
who I want when I want to.

“She shook me all night long” begins to play as my nighttime drive finishes.

One day baby, my life will play out intense as any AC/DC ****** innuendo…

*but it’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock n’ roll.

"Small towns are fun simple living man",*
I’ve always preferred a guitar riff to a beat drop
Girls in long sweaters and nothing else
Waterfalls to shopping malls
If you watch too many movies it
Becomes obvious not all endings are optional
but,
Anything can happen around a campfire
Anything can happen on an ice cream date
Anything that ever mattered
Becomes less important than
Something that mattered
To a family on vacation, waterski enthusiasts
cyclists of mountain or road, a children with ice-cream,
Playing in safe streets An Ice-cream parlour older than your parents
Iconic
A Small diving board
a Big diving board
And    the   cliffs.
Cliffs with edges that Hunter would jump from
I would always jump in love
Rather than fall

I’m starting to prefer pony tails to job interviews
Fast speeds to failures
Motorhomes to Mazda trucks
Homemade salads to Starbucks
For as much heart the barista’s have
The salad is homemade and heartmade
Home is where the heart is and
They rarely come home with ya
where my home is not where  I always am
Its always where you can find me.
it is not my house,
but my heart
That is my home.

And boy oh boy does my heart have a big **motor!

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                        color me voodoo.
The oranged-pink hue of the sunshine
                                        feeds me mellow.
Head on the road ’n’ off the rodeo,
        Blakey on the radio — “Please give me
                               a pretty overdose with othello dayglow”
Mansions mate with motorhomes. Methane skies gas burnt-out residents.
Tiredthoughts&drymouth; Think it’s a drought—
                                                             Could be a pestilence.
       “****, it’s too hot out
                                  for the middle-of-September!..Ach-urr!”
I cough&choked on a memory—Remember-
                                                ­            ing youth’s relentless attention
                                                       ­ to nothing in particular but
                                                             ­   its boundless pursuit of every-
                                                        th­ing in-between.

I used to look to the Blue and think I’d float away
                                  but
             that’s when I believed in miracles.
Nowadays, reality has no sympathy just a noose — tighter leash,
                       anchored soles to a meanconcretecaprice
                                                with
                                 no abstract release — (still)
I drive ‘round Podunk & keep away from po-lice.

I stop in the corner-market
    to cop some energy&fillup on gasoline;
    at the pumps
tilt my bushy-brunette crown back to admire
            the delicious slices of tangerine evening-sky
                  topped by thick whippingcream clouds...
...Remiss though;
     futile, in wild aims to pause Time
                   and repossess my myself: immobilized
          I was separated from body centuries ago
                                   & today (i) continue
                                    a microstep behind (my) experience...
...Wait inside my 99 Suzuki Esteem
        cigarette cherried, Brubeck on NPR;
Waiting for my man, he’s always late.
                   Waiting, so I can buy it.
                   then smoke it.
                   then hide myself;
          Stow-ed a-way
& it’s almost fall,
        I find peace in the fallen leaves,
           the stoic desperation in the liberation
              of those sweet Autumn trees.

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia is a solitary perfume;
         let it take the wheel&lead the way —
I can see silhouettes
         through the fog of cigarettes, hologram faces.
Drive ‘round town over bridges I forgot to burn
            and
      instead, just let decay...

Drive ‘round town — let
        the music choose my destination, let
                                       the rhythm lead the way, let
               the groove shake the memories loose.
Sometimes I drive for hours, sometimes
                                                I let my mind wander for days.
Sometimes I roll the world on my tongue,
                                                sometimes­ I have nothing to say.


Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                         color my contempt;
       Deadwood&drygrass&nomoneyforent.
                  Sanity is counted in dollars&cents
       & This place always stinks like ****.

I love the beauty of the lake
                                 but
                            I hate what it reflects.
Hushed earth-tones and
                pastel humanity,
Vanity injected with a tie-around-the-neck.

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                 keeps me from sober.
        The sun feeds my head
                                 and the roads are now my owner.
“**** it’s too cold out
                                 for the middle-of-October!”

Hushed earth-tones
                        and pastel humanity;
Blush'd guru trance O how petty I’ve be-come!
 ... isolation is intoxicating.
           “No more, no more…”
I’m already dumb,
           Shouldn’t I be happy?

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                        color me voodoo,
                the faded twilight feeds my melancholy;

In spring I plant my harvest in fall I reap the seeds.

Nothing much else to do.

But
Drive ‘round town & let the countryside woo me.
Lived here for 15 years,
           (turns out)
nobody ever knew me.