Just One More Word for the Road

These days

when I am here

I am not really here

my mind is back there

up there

in the mountains

where I have found solitude

seclusion from this life

that we live

we lead down here.

And in my separation from this life

that I used to live

on the foothills

I have felt the peace

that I have searched for

for a long time.

It is within these walls

in this apartment

that I feel the loneliness

that I had believed to be gone.

It is not that I search for someone

to fill this void

but I cannot help but feel the emptiness

of this apartment

when Mazzy Star whispers

words of love and loss

in my open ear.

It is only ever

when I am alone in this apartment

that I feel trapped

like there has been a lock placed

on the door from the outside.

I feel as though I have once again returned

to the desolate Maryland hills

to the lonely mountains where I lost

so much of myself.

It was there that I was surrounded by silence

though there was industry out my window.

When I no longer have the ability to

communicate

will I no longer exist?

This apartment is silent

save for the sound of my keystrokes.

Miles, you cannot sooth my anxious

heart

or the feeling of hopelessness

I sometimes feel

when the sun has set behind these great Rockies

and the air chills the April night.

Your trumpet speaks softly the troubles

of the world

and I listen

waiting

to hear my story.

I can hear them screaming

somewhere across the parking lot

the cows

probably stuffed into a trailer

being shipped off to the slaughter

but for now just getting

very pissed off

in the parking lot

of a Waffle House

in Amarillo, Texas.

This city seems to never end

it just keeps growing as you

drive North to South

trying to escape its clutches.

I look for a restaurant

but find only McDonald’s

and Burger King

and the almighty

Waffle House

a town overrun

by industry for the traveler.

The roadsigns tower over the highway

like skyscrapers

beckoning out to the masses

“come and drink from my cup”

“this is my body, eat it”

“commune in our holy palace

“and share life with your brother.”

I have barely hit the halfway mark

and already feel like I have

been gone for ages.

Claude, Texas looks like

what most of

post-apocalyptic America 

will look like.

Like the great Dust Bowl swept in

100 years ago and never left.

It is like a faded postcard

left out in the sun.

Boarded up

beaten down

with a few seedy motels

and a bar and grill.

The highway cuts through

and the only way you know

you are there

is that the speed limit

drops to 55.

Slow enough for you to notice

but fast enough

that you never

have to stop.

I spent last night packed in

like a sardine

wedged between a car door

and the rest of my shit

clothes, food, blanket.

Through my window the night sky

burned above me

with the moon whitewashing

the plains in its milky bath.

The railroad was livid last night

the trains screaming

the moans of banshees

from 100 miles away.

They cut through the night like

ghosts

forever searching for peace

to end their eternal pain.

Stratford is alive

partially

at 7am.

The sun isn’t up but there

are already teams of workers

in Carhartts

filling up on warm lifeblood

and getting started for the day.

It is Tuesday

the second day in

and there are a million miles

to travel.

It seems

I am not alone

on the endless road

rather

a single soul

in a procession

leading us to some

unknown destination.

It is difficult to describe

exactly how I feel right now

in this cramped car

hundreds of miles from my home

looking up at the stars

that fill the night sky

unlike anywhere I have been.

I have been on the road for

little less than nine hours

but my eyes are already

drifting

and I feel the tiredness

creeping in.

Under these stars it is hard to

sleep

hard to shut them out

Just over the border of Texas

I am calling this

county road home

for the next few hours.