I'm lost in a parking lot on the left coast
w/an Afghan Kush and Grey Goose buzz
when Screamin' Jay Hawkins
jumps the Sierra's screaming:
"What can I do w/eighty-six kids
'n each momma wantin' my jam?!"
"Get in motherfucker!" I salvo,
kicking the gas like a mule bucks gravity.
a child of highway and wine
still doing what I did
decades ago. Jazz and the sad momento
following me through town and hamlet
city and scape. Monk's mood and Trane
blowin' by the riverside – finding the notes
coursing the curves. The sun in the East, then West
rising, falling like love itself
bridges, streams – the four way stop.
I never did get back to Topeka.
What was the point? There were pipe bombs
in every direction. Just like here.
Up n down. Forward, back.
Horizon to horizon. Moon to moon
n Grandma's down eight fingers n falling
into her chili n chips as Pop Pop swears at Quick Draw