I had meant to post this old, old poem for a long time, ever since I rediscovered it in a pile of ancient writing -- mostly shit I should've gotten rid of ages ago. This one, though, is a keeper. I wrote it in 1993, about a year after Andi and I made an unforgettable trip to Chicago, and just after another short but lovely road trip in Florida. Here's to you, Andi!
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sunglasses warrior sister
in a blue convertible florida spring,
the heat rises off us
like a death valley mirage.
the open highway ahead
looms large
like those passed by already
in relentless travel.
we are a movie
that no one can name,
the physical embodiment
of a tattooed singer's lust.
we speed down the asphalt
and know our minds
are twice as fast:
alive -- alight -- incendiary.
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1993. ho. lee. shit. thanks for the warm thoughts, sista. we need all the heat we can get these days.
ReplyDeletealthough i seem to remember another evening with a carful of rather drunken college chicks, driving through a flat indiana night, top DOWN, in the cold, and then it started to snow. how have we managed to live this long?
"like those passed by already in relentless travel." i love that.
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