Oct 6, 2015
without destination these words meander – life on the road is played by ear lived from one highway to the next freeway just as these letters trail with ink splatter because without direction I forgot to twist the cartridge right and tight so vocabulary falls aimlessly like the rain I wanted to write for Seattle, the sound of bullets of water massaging the skull like the river on this page searching for the blind sea only to find the dried up well of a poet’s heart that set off scribbling in the dark      hoping to be led to a full stop,           stop.
