And still wondered why the silence followed us home.

That unsettling feeling inside of you the night before your escape.

The realization that you just rode something named Fleet. 

Despite the value of pain, I will forfeit it's lessons if given the chance.

I saw your melancholy and ran.

"Nature is an endangered language humans rarely speak."

- an old bear

We mixed at half-life until our minds left us alone.

Slack Lee

Slack surprised us a month ago. He had a huge blow up with Big Mangus. Big Mangus is a generous man, even for a pit boss. He's full Apache. Claims to be Geronimo's great great grand son. I told him my family knew his and we became friends shortly after I showed him the diary my great great grandma kept. My family hid Geronimo's children while the rest of the Apache ducked into the Chiricahuas as calvary chased after them. 

There was word going around that Slack was in the mountains across from Bear Lake but I thought I saw him yesterday on the ridge-line next to the stand of dead trees. I was out near the twelfth hole running ice for Sky's snack cart. Slack has this dodgy gate with a quick step. His shirt was off and his black slacks were grey with campfire ash. He'd taken a few choppy steps across the high boulder we all used to smoke at when when were kids. I knew he was looking at us 'cause I saw the hair on Sky's neck stand up. 

I felt the ceiling pushing down extra hard today.

It doesn't matter if it is or if it isn't, as long as you have a fast pair of shoes.

I walked out of the hospital today. 

Facing death is one thing but facing torture is another. 

The world is indifferent.

It's not as simple as being optimistic or pessimistic. It's as simple as knowing most people in this city don't care.

We categorize everything.

LA

I stared out at it with regret for allowing my self to stay this long. 

I am tired of glass and stucco and cars.

My heart has lost it's speech.

Comfort has led to self-imprisonment.

To be on the move under new sky comforts the stranger inside of me.

The adrenaline of the outdoors. A fall from bad footing and misjudged direction has become strange to me.

My mind wanders to the canyons I explored with my father and brothers when I was a child. It's hidden there high in the Gila near two waterfalls and a deep canyon with cottonwoods. The smell of wild mint blows along the bank in the evenings when the wind is done high in the mountains and starts it's decent back to where it came from. There are trout in the creek that are easy  to catch. There is an Apache cave to protect us from the lighting during monsoon season. 

I considered the stand of cottonwood trees that grow next to a hidden waterfall inside the Gila Wilderness. It is a place with strong memories and clean water that is good for drinking. There are bass and cut-throat trout in the creek that are simple enough to catch. Wild mint grows on the riverbank and the smell drifts down the canyon in the evening winds after they are done working in the mountains. I start gathering fire wood as the low areas along the creek start to get cold. 

There is a waterfall on the right. It's up from the place called Cow Cave where black suit from Indian fires still clings. Below all of this is an even bigger cave with ruins from cliff dwellers. In July we would watch the storms rumble through the canyon from the warmth of the dwelling caves.  

In my dreams I still see the walls lit up by the lightning and when I wake I remember the sounds of the summer storms as they rush free through the canyons. 

Shy

Her name is Boston and her eyes are pale.

...

I tried to spell it out but realized I no longer knew the language of the heart.

I tried to get to know the stranger inside of me but he only speaks on rare occasions, when the breeze cools the back porch. 

I forgot what clarity feels like.

Slack Lee

My breath blew past my face as I moved silent on the night. Drifting downhill through canyons of brick towards a distant neon glow. 

I can avoid the urge to drink most times but it’s strong tonight. I’ve kept my self in the dark for too long. I feel my inside on the out of me. 

I entered the place and a sign read, Hang your souls here. 

I was four when I woke up alone on my mother’s bed. My tiny body edged off the quilt her mother had made me. The wood floor felt cold at my feet as I searched the places where I was certain to find her: next to the kitchen sink where she peeled potatoes for the soup we would eat all winter, on the porch trunk where she sat tucked into a ball rocking her self when no one was looking, and the clothesline out back next to the orchard.

Panic set in when I realized the promise mom had made me was a lie. I was alone. 

At the back of the bar was a woman. Her chopped bangs and pale face drew me in just as the neon had done. I pushed my way towards her.

"Can I hop on?" She Asked.
"I don’t know if you’re tall enough to ride." 
"Don’t worry your blue little eyes 'cause I got these heels." 

My eyes dreamt of following her long legs down into her black stilettos. She would have perfect feet. 

By the time I found my self I was north on Clark Street at a late night place called, The Pick Me Up Cafè, a place where people hunker down when their hangover hits.

Two waitresses moved food around. The tired and gone stared at things. One man rested his head next his waffle and his buddy worked a fork around it.

The waitress approached me. Her wrinkled face wanted my order but as her mouth stood there all

I could  hear was a younger woman’s voice.

"Can I hop on."

A pancake showed up with syrup.

"I don't need Syrup, I said."

LA

Like trying to contain a pile of socks from the dryer, I knelt to collect you but you spilt all over the place. 

I felt crawling inside.

I chased you into the shadows but you weren't there.

Take the pain and stick with her.

...

We are the universe trying to witness it self.

Tennessee Run

I thought you were beyond it until I realized I was suffering foolishness.

Kenna, Tx

The house in that place we hoped to never find.

Forrest People

Sawdust clung to the laces on her shoes when I came upon her standing in a field of stumps. I adjusted my pack. She stared absently into the horizon. I pulled on a long piece of grass waiting for it to break. She started to speak.

Joseph.
Henry.
Fredrick.

She paused when her eyes fell on a stump only a few inches wide. I felt her tears build when she whispered a name so softly I couldn't hear.

How had she gotten here? Not a single person was seen since crossing the great divide. Then I heard her voice spill into me through the tree line asking me who did this. I pulled harder at the grass until it broke.

Jug Face

The good people have found themselves amongst each other yet again. And you that are not here...our hearts feel yours.

Cold enough to freeze not only yours but mine

You came to see honesty and found it was not there. You left with a heart too fragile.

The white carnation she wore at the funeral was not really for her father. It was for herself.

Your lack of kindness makes you a shadow in conversation.

If they'd all just leave I'd really find myself.

My echo came back wearing a new dress.

The hummingbird asked the firefly, "Why can't we cry?"

You step back to find out we are all insane

Fools say we all anticipate something else while the very thing happens in front of us but the real fool is he who actually believes you can stop and smell the roses. The darkness of reality is only lit by imagination.

You made the story dance.

Butterfield and the Black Range

Gold Gulch and a juniper fire.

The way the mountains and trees were was beyond us.

To realize we were not dreaming.

Like crashing a wave, she said.

Dark Mountain Road

The young man who called me Panther died last night. I'll miss you Ferni.

I picture myself telling you there isn't a day that goes by that I don't feel bad for what I did. I can’t say that with a clear conscious but I do feel pain. I bury it on the worst days only to find it coming to the surface.