my tire track swirls in between the broncos tracks which is now puttering away.
lost are the days of youth,as like I cared anyway.
behind me is a funeral procession,thirty or so cars deep.
Mexican family:beautiful:grieving.
I hide my face,never turning around...I feel as though IAM leading,
whomever,
to the ground.
swirls of colors rupture from the oil in the puddles as they splash on to my red framed bike.
like it or not,i thought,the wind will be coming tonight.
I felt the raddle of my bones as the anticipation of first snow,now breathes with the combating of fall.
I see the mountains in the distance,awe struck with the feeling of winter,the city to the south, bound by memories.
standing on the footsteps of a bookstore,smoking cigarettes laced with liquid hyrdrocodene.
all before the hour long walk threw the dirty slush and smog filled cold.
coughing my american spirit,as if I should have known,that this American life breeds cancer
among sorrow.
back in the bathroom,the shower screaming with the broken toilet closed,the mist folds the paper to my diary as the words begin to run soaked,
dripping,
loathed.
my heart foams for methadone,but the shivers press on.
surrounded by people who love me,I now feel at ease
leading the procession of people to a grave meant for me.
past the mausoleums,between two aspen trees,next to the fence by the tree ladened lake
thats where my empty Pharaoh chamber sleeps.
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