If ever there was a time a human should be allowed to go into hibernation, this is it. Fortunately, today being Sunday, I could put this theory into action. I still woke before it got light. After a chilly expedition to the kitchen, I bravely returned to bed with a jug of coffee and Coyote-Gnawed US 95 Nevada.
These are some of my favourite lines from that journey:
Strangers offer lard sandwiches,
rusty, mineral-odor tap water.
- Tonopah Mess
Getting through the morning is like using
a dry Sharpie to write Good Luck
on the belly
of a body-temperature-99 rattler.
It makes sense to substitute
army surplus wool blankets
for doors repeatedly busted-in by cops.
- September Motel
Each deep-lung cough sounds
like a single-wide trailer's
loose, windblown aluminium
- Without Pieties
Monday's coming along.
I've been blessed with more copies of Red's poetry where they will join me in Thomas Hardy country where I am working this week. Fitting companions I think, to drive the cold winter away.