Originally published August 31, 2013
I came out here in a Cadillac, hood as long as the sky is big.
I came past the glaring lights of gambling dens and the more somber hues of bars and brothels,
Past the open hole in the earth and the river where Glanton’s Gang lost their hides.
I drove until the tank ran nearly dry.
And with dregs, rags and Bic, I made an effigy of it.
I felt like Cortez.
It was an El Dorado.
We would dance to Doors tunes
And dream of living on the coast.
You with your hair shorn close,
And me with mine gone wild,
We would spend the day smoking as we drove
And spend the nights beneath the tangled sheets.
Now I spend the days sweating,
And the nights shivering.
I came out here to run from you.
Or I came out here to call out to you.
What difference do a few words make?
By day, I watch the raptors circle.
And by night, I watch what could be UFOs.
I came out here for an escapist experience.
Or was it an aesthetic one?
What difference do a few letters make?
At night, I think I hear ghosts.
But they are only coyotes.
We can sense our fear.
Or is it just our wariness?
What difference does a word make?
I brought food, cans and crackers.
But it’s all gone now.
So I hunt for sustenance.
I grow lost beneath the big sky with the circling raptors and the what could be UFOs.
And I watch for the tail of dust or the glare of headlights.
Maybe this next one belongs to you.
Resent, repent, repeat.
What difference does a letter make?