7-Eleven

just past dusk

I watched them from inside

standing there arguing

over cigarettes

he was a disgusting fuck of a human being

head shaved bald, shining with sweat

a black sleeveless shirt and

black tweeker jeans

and those weird tweeker fingerless black gloves

she was an old Native

skin scorched to leather

eating something sloppy

from inside

next to her drink on top

of the garbage can

I paid for my things and watched them while I waited for my change

he raised his arm up at her

weak fist

and she flinched

the counter girl gave me

an apologetic look

I walked out and unlocked my door

set the bag on the passenger seat

and he did it again

I closed my door and walked up

to the sidewalk

he looked at me and I shook my head

“What the fuck, man?”

he put his hands up

“Hey, it’s cool, brother. Hard ass day.”

she looked at me indifferently

and put another

bite into her mouth

I walked back to my car and heard him talking low

“You fuckin’ bitch. The fuckin’ cigarettes are OURS, you goddamn hear me?”

I started the engine, he raised the arm again

and I shut it off

the counter girl walked out and said something

to them and went back inside

he walked off in a huff

clutching his backpack in his slimy grip

she watched after him and yelled,

“YOU DON’T WANT ME HAVIN’ NOTHIN’!”

she swallowed another bite

bit the straw and drank

trashed the food

threw her bag over her shoulder

grabbed her drink

and walked after him

I restarted the engine and backed out, took a left onto Solano, drove up my street

and thought about living alone

the glory and restlessness of it

all the good and bad

but at my house

the dogs were there

the machine was there

the night was there

and there was something

young about it

I parked in my driveway and killed

the lights.

High desert

Umatilla.

hungover

smoking

a cheap cigar

AC

dogs

heat

head on fire with something

I can't explain save the feelings of expectation

and fear

Sunday.

people leaving church

blow around me

in white SUVs

their faces twisted and

smug

equity in Christ

they eye me as they pass

I glance at them sideways

then watch the road

hot brow

eyes red and sore

the short afternoon sun

burning wild

dirt and displacement

and small corpses

the desert is an ocean

my hands feeling old

and broken-boned

and thick

surf the radio

modern country and

evangelists

I keep it in the right lane

while the faces blow past me

on their way to somewhere terrible

not one ounce of rescue

in them

not one ounce of mercy

not one ounce

of intelligent curiosity

I check my review for the

rental truck

my buddy behind the wheel

all my belongings in the

back

and switch my thoughts to the small bar in Baker City last night

small town

a rare nightfall fast

gripping our drinks

and breathing easy in

that place

the town outside with

just enough light

to make you trust somebody

my buddy stepped outside

to have a cigarette and we laughed through the window

at a couple arguing

in full denim outfits

walking past

people eyeing us

objects of mystery

walking the street back

to our rooms

drunk

alive

back within our

element

the summer moon against

the clock tower

the smell of old Main Street

the last few survivors

beating the night

stumbling home or to

their spots behind

old buildings

we stopped and watched the clock tower

its face lit yellow in

that moonlight

a heavy metal western

I switch my mind back to the road

nothing changes out here

not the dirt

or the beauty

or the stark expanse

bleeding across the heart of escape, of youth

the faces blow around until the last exit of another town

I watch another white one

exit carefully in my rearview

their death is a lie

but regarding death

there are no better

answers.

I wait for the truck to reappear in the rearview

the road opens up into

a long dream

stark and exact

and without end

without fail

American Woman

comes in clear

over the static

an old

biker

passes me

and gives me

the devil horns

I return them with strength

while he

switches lanes in front of me

and tears off up the road

on the way

to somewhere wonderful.

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Turn the tv off and listen to the musical sounds of quietness and it's so crazy because if you actually listen closely silence has a sound and if you listen even closer you can hear your heart beat playing as your personal soundtrack to the weird little episode your having called listening to silence

Social media today is too shallow. Too plain. Not enough depth, not enough color - not enough mind and heart, not enough thought and taste. Social media today is too Hollywood. SMILE FOR THE CAMERA! Photos upon photos, videos upon videos, songs upon songs, texts upon texts. The ocean surface is great...but so is the entire ocean. Photos, videos, texts, and emails are fun - but so is the depth. The deep. The sublime. The epic. The semantic. The invisible. The ideas. The words.