Author’s Note: You might recall me recently posting a story about how Joe Pera Talks With You is my favorite new TV show and how in it I go on and on about how my wife and I spent part of our honeymoon up in Marquette, Mich. I wanted to add some pictures in that post but it turned out they were on my Mac laptop and not on my HP desktop so I had to go dig them up and transfer them over so I could make good on my promise. Anyways, what follows is my first attempt at a photo-centric post… If I can figure it out. Thanks for looking.
In and around Marquette, Mich.
Click on the photos to see them larger against a black background.
Restaurant in downtown Marquette. We had a mediocre breakfast here.Iron ore dockLake Superior Iron ore dock with wooden pilingsSkeletal remains of wooden pilingsMore skeletal remainsDowntown Marquette with historic Landmark Inn in backView from hotel breakfast roomAnother view from hotel breakfast roomSign in convenience store bathroom in MunisingPiles of dirty snowIcy Lake SuperiorStatue of soldier at war memorialLake Superior and lighthouseLake Superior with ore dock in backgroundMy wife contemplating life on the shores of Lake Superior. She’s wearing a coat because it was March and pretty coldMore beautiful Lake SuperiorOur hotel room. Sorry about the mess. If you look closely you can see a pair of crutches. My wife was on crutches during our honeymoon because of a bad knee that she had replaced the following monthA tree looking out upon Lake SuperiorA pier jutting out into Lake SuperiorAnother view of the lake from a lonely park we visited
About ore docks
I don’t think I ever saw an iron ore dock until I was in Marquette. They are huge… Things. I don’t even really know how to describe them. They sort of look like elevated piers in a way but much wider, and they are kind of creepy and imposing. I don’t entirely understand how they work, but from the reading I have done it seems they are used to fill ships (that pull up, or I guess float up, to the sides of the dock) with iron ore by means of a series of chutes that flip down. The ore is brought to the dock via railcars that ride along tracks at the top of the dock. If anyone knows more about iron ore docks and how they work, please leave a comment. Thanks for reading.
Franco Dellaronti dreamily looked out the window while scrubbing and rinsing dishes. He whistled while he worked, but then suddenly stopped when the clouds went away, and the sky bloomed with sun like a fat piñata giving birth to a glimmering candy store, and the damaged Earth greened with slithering kudzu right before his very eyes. The end of time had ended, and somehow prosperity had returned.
He rushed to his bedroom and grabbed his favorite puppet, a beloved remnant from his days at puppetry school down in New Orleans. The puppet’s name was Cheise Karn Mouise (pronounced SHAYSS CAIRN MOOSAY), and he was an old-time French bastard with a very pale and gloopy face that looked like he had been whitewashed in grease paint. He had thin white doll hair atop his head and Kia Soul taupe-colored eyes that never blinked. Franco impaled the puppet on his arm like rough sex and they rushed outside together to see the new, green world.
“Would you look at all that kudzu,” Franco said. “I have a great idea that’s going to make us filthy rich.”
He worked the puppet’s mouth to make him mumble something in a strange high-pitched voice. “What’s that? I hope it’s safe.”
“Of course, it’s safe. I would never endanger your life. You’re Cheise Karn Mouise, and you’re my best friend and I love you.”
He rotated the puppet’s head, so it was looking right at him. Franco tried so hard not to move his lips when he made the puppet talk, and it made him sound stuffed up, restrained, unable to completely annunciate the words.
“You’re my best friend and I love you too. So, what’s this grand idea of yours have to do with all that kudzu?”
“We’re going into business,” Franco said with asserted determination. Then he made the puppet explode with excitement — like an ice cream truck that swallowed dynamite.
“Awesome! I’ve never been in business before. What are we going to do?”
“I’m glad you asked, Cheise Karn Mouise. Now get this. What does one do with such an abundance of kudzu?”
“I have no idea.”
“One makes kudzu pie!”
Franco Dellaronti moved his hand slowly toward himself and soon the puppet was so close to his face they almost bumped noses. “That’s a terrible idea. Who ever heard of kudzu pie?” the puppet said.
“It’s a fabulous idea. I’m going to be rich!”
He worked the puppet to make him show a troubled concern for his master.
“Now hold on there, Martha Stewart. Do you even know how to make kudzu pie?”
Franco became flustered. “Of course, I do. I mean — how hard can it be?”
He made the puppet hit him in the side of the head.
“You better get down to the library right away and do some research before you make a total ass of yourself!”
Then Cheise Karn Mouise hit him again.
“Would you stop hitting me,” Franco scolded. “Okay, I’ll go to the library. Do you want to go with me?”
He made the puppet tip his head in a gesture of judgmental parenting. “Are you going to be embarrassed this time?”
Franco thought about it far too long. “I’ll be okay. I think the psychiatrist is really beginning to help me see things on a deeper level.”
He made the puppet grow tense and serious. “I don’t trust him.”
“What? You’re the one who suggested I go see him. I don’t understand.”
“I haven’t seen any improvement in you at all. And now you’ve got some crazy idea about selling kudzu pie!”
“I think you need a time out Cheise Karn Mouise,” Franco said, and he popped the puppet off his arm and let him fall to the ground before going back inside to take a shower.
It was an aluminum-colored day with a blinding sun stinging the yard where he had set up his kudzu pie stand. Franco Dellaronti made his very own sign and set it out and it read in big green letters: KUDZU PIE – $5 per slice. Whipped cream extra. A car came down his street about every 10 minutes, but no one ever stopped. He sighed and took a bite of pie for himself, then chased it with a big squirt of the canned whipped cream until it ran out of his mouth. He looked down to the ground and saw that Cheise Karn Mouise had suddenly come to life, real life, and the puppet jumped up onto his feet and swayed a bit before getting the hang of standing on his own.
“Whoa, that’s fun. But why so glum, my friend?” Cheise Karn Mouise asked.
“I haven’t sold a single piece of pie. I might as well just shut down. I’m nothing but a failure.”
Cheise Karn Mouise shook his once wooden head, now real flesh and bone. He was disappointed in his master. “You can’t give up already. Have you done any marketing?”
Franco looked at the little lively puppet that stood no more than three feet tall. “Marketing? What’s that?”
“You have to let people know about your product! You big goof.”
Franco looked around the yard and pointed. “I have a big sign out front.”
The puppet shook its head in frustration. “You have to think a lot bigger than that if you want to sell enough kudzu pie to generate sustainable income.”
It was then that a car slowed and stopped in front of the house and the driver activated the window. “Hi there!” said a woman full of perfumed perk. “I’ve never had any kudzu pie, but I’d be willing to give it a try. Do you give out free samples?”
Franco turned to the tray where he had laid out small servings of his kudzu pie for people to try before they buy. “Yes mam. Give this a taste,” and he went to the car, and he handed her a small cupcake cup with a piece of the pie inside it.
The woman sniffed at it and then gingerly pushed it into her mouth and began chewing. Then her face scrunched, and she gagged a little bit, and then spit the half-macerated sample at Franco’s shoes. “That’s horrible, mister. You should be arrested for trying to sell that shit! You’re going to poison someone!” The woman gave him the finger and sped off.
He looked to Cheise Karn Mouise for comfort. “See. I’m a failure!” Franco went to his pie stand and kicked it to pieces and scattered them all over the yard in a disturbing fury as the puppet looked on in disbelief. “Fuck kudzu pie!” Franco bellowed, and then he huffed his way back into the house and slammed the door.
Hello, like the title indicates, today I would like to talk to you about my favorite new television show. But before I tell you what it is, I just read that after three seasons, it’s been canceled. I am pissed!! Why oh why do they always cancel the good stuff and keep the crap going for like 17 seasons. It’s just like that show on Amazon Prime called Night Sky. You know, the one with Sissy Spacek and J.K. Simmons and they discovered the portal to another planet in their backyard. It was great. The story was great. The characters were great, and the finale of the first season was totally primed and pumped for a second season… oh, but no. They fucking cancel it – probably to make way for a show about a bunch of annoying surgically altered social media trendsetters who have drunken orgies on a tropical island followed by over dramatic talk sessions concerning their all-important feelings about shallow relationships. I commence puking.
The name of my favorite new television show that is now being canceled is Joe Pera Talks With You. It’s an Adult Swim product but I watch it on HBO Max because for some reason they have more of the episodes. Go figure. The more I watch the show the better it gets. It evolves perfectly and the addition of familiar, quirky characters throughout makes it fun to watch.
Joe Pera is essentially a nerdy, socially awkward, slow and soft-spoken middle school choir teacher (who can’t really sing for some weird reason) who talks about mundane, everyday topics but somehow makes them interesting in a strangely captivating way. In the first episode I watched, he talked about the importance of iron and other minerals found in the Upper Peninsula region of Michigan. And that’s another reason I love the show – it takes place in Marquette.
“So,” you may say. Well, I say that Marquette is a pretty special place for me because my wife and I spent part of our honeymoon in the UP and we loved it. If you don’t know anything about Marquette, Michigan, it’s way, way up there, situated on the shores of beautiful Lake Superior. It’s a great little town (Marquette is actually the largest city in the UP, population of about 20,000) and I get really excited when they show places I recognize and have been to.
Let’s enjoy this gallery of photos from our trip:
Ahhh shit! The pictures are on my Mac so I will have to come back to that. Sorry.
But back to the show. I don’t want to spoil too much for you, but you can kind of get a feel for what the show is about just by some of the titles of the episodes. Here’s a few I found in my research:
Joe Pera talks with you about beans
Joe Pera takes you to the grocery store
Joe Pera shows you his second fridge
Joe Pera takes you to breakfast
Joe Pera shows you how to pack a lunch
I’m still only in the first season, but my favorite episode so far is Joe Pera reads you the church announcements. It basically starts off with Joe at church (Catholic church) and he is tasked with going up to the front and reading the announcements. Well, a short while into it he goes off on this little rant about The Who and his favorite “new” song – Baba O’Riley (You know, the teenage wasteland song). It then flashes back to Joe doing dishes and the first time he hears the song on the radio. How has he not ever heard that song!? That’s funny. After that, he keeps requesting the song because he loves it so much and essentially doesn’t sleep for three days because all he’s doing is jamming out to Baba O’Riley, even with the pizza delivery guy and his sorta girlfriend who’s the school band director. It’s great stuff and prompted me to order (on CD, like Joe, so he can play it in his 2001 Buick, but I don’t have a Buick I have a Mazda 3) The Who’s 1971 classic Who’s Next. I actually had my wife order it because she has Amazon Prime and so I basically utilized the love of my life for free and fast shipping. I have a Who CD, but it’s wrapped up in the basement somewhere like a mummy and I don’t want to be bothered looking for it.
The timing of me watching that particular episode couldn’t be more perfect since I had just finished up my serial fiction piece Child of the Cabbage and made mention of Baba O’Riley in the final episode which you can read HERE if you want. (Shameless plug, I know).
So, yeah, even though I haven’t watched all the episodes, I’m pretty bummed the show has been canceled. But isn’t that life, though. The idiots make all the important decisions. It’s frustrating and heart breaking to say the least. Anyways, give yourself a little treat and check out Joe Pera Talks With You. It’s a nice break from the oftentimes shitty world we live in… And in the meantime, let me see if I can find those vacation photos from our honeymoon in Marquette. I know you’re excited about that.
They brought the boat aground on the far side of the island where there was a small cove and a cold, soft beach. Pierre hoisted his supplies over his shoulder and BumBuna O’Brien carried the stone head of Saint Pedro. They made their way into the trees along a footpath worn down by Pierre over time as he came and went. BumBuna O’Brien looked up, and the tops of the trees seemed so very far away to him — the light of day could barely break in as the canopy was so thick.
“How far is it?” he asked Pierre.
“Not far. Is the head heavy? Do you need to rest?”
BumBuna O’Brien lied. “No. He’s just being restless in this bag.”
The path wound on and on, into the deepest parts of the island, and then the trees retreated a bit and the ground opened and that is where BumBuna O’Brien saw the crooked little and gray-washed island hovel, crooked and shiny like ice in the mist.
“I know it doesn’t look like much,” Pierre said as he set the sacks on the porch. “But it’s comfortable enough. Quiet and peaceful, too. That’s the way I like it.”
BumBuna O’Brien stepped onto the porch, but Pierre held him back with his large hand.
“I think you should leave the head outside. I don’t feel good about bringing that thing into my house. It might be bad luck.”
“I’m not bad luck,” Saint Pedro said. “But I would like to be out of this sack. It’s itchy.”
“Where should I put it?”
Pierre pointed to a stump at the edge of the clearing.
“Put him there. I suppose he won’t be able to run off.”
BumBuna O’Brien carried him to the stump, set him free from the sack and set him upon the flat surface.
“I don’t like it here,” Saint Pedro said. “Why can’t I come inside?”
“Not now,” BumBuna O’Brien said. “You heard Pierre. He doesn’t like you too much.”
“What about you? Do you like me?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I guess that’s up to you.”
“You know, I could send you to hell if I wanted to,” Saint Pedro said to him, seriously.
BumBuna O’Brien blinked at him, then his head dipped, and he thought about how derailed his life had become. Even in the midst of trying to be good and peaceful and not stir up trouble, trouble always seemed to find him, get attached to him, like glue or magnets.
“I’m already in hell,” he answered, and then he walked away and went into the house, and there he saw a cozy little place, a bit worn down, but Pierre had made it livable.
The man was busy in the kitchen area, filling cupboards with cans and boxes and little bags by the light of a lantern. There was no electricity, only candles and the lanterns, and there was a wood-burning stove that was already beginning to glow, and now the fire crackled, and the place was getting warmer.
“Do you want some coffee?” Pierre asked as he prepared the pot.
“Yes. And I’m hungry.”
“Well, then come in, sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”
BumBuna O’Brien sat down at a round table in the middle of the room.
“Do you have any carrot cake?” he asked.
“No. But I have something better. Just picked it up fresh today. How do you feel about liverwurst sandwiches?”
“What’s liverwurst?”
“It’s liver sausage. You spread it on bread. I like to refer to it as the poor man’s pate. Here, try it.”
Pierre set down two plates at the table. BumBuna O’Brien stared at the bread, then he peeled the sandwich open to peek inside.
“It looks disgusting,” he said. “Like someone had a nasty blowout in there.”
Pierre laughed out loud, took a big bite of his own sandwich and chewed. “Nonsense. It’s delicious.”
BumBuna O’Brien took a small bite. He nibbled carefully. The taste and texture did not sit with him very well. He set it back down on his plate.
“I can’t eat this. Don’t you have anything else?”
Pierre was somewhat offended. He got up to pour himself a cup of the coffee. “You’re welcome to hunt yourself a fish or a squirrel if you want. Otherwise, it’s liverwurst. I’m sorry, but I have limited options. It’s a peaceful life, but not always easy and convenient. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable back where you came from.”
BumBuna O’Brien sensed that he had hurt Pierre’s feelings and so he got up and walked outside. Saint Pedro whistled for him to come over.
“What do you want?” BumBuna O’Brien asked.
“I just wanted to talk. What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m afraid I offended our host by not eating his disgusting sandwich.”
“That wasn’t very nice of you.”
BumBuna O’Brien snapped. “What the hell do you know! You’re just a stone head.”
“I know enough that it’s rude to complain about the food when in someone else’s home. You should apologize.”
BumBuna O’Brien sighed. His stomach grumbled. “I’m just not myself when I’m hungry.”
“I don’t like it here,” Saint Pedro whispered. “I don’t trust him. I say we take his boat in the middle of the night and leave this place.”
“We can’t do that. He’d be marooned.”
“Would you really care? Face it, you’re not the nicest animal in the world.”
“Why did you call me an animal? Do I look like an animal to you?”
“Every man is an animal. You’re savages. Pigs. The world has fallen because of you — you human animals.”
“You used to be human,” BumBuna O’Brien pointed out.
“I rose above it,” Saint Pedro answered. “Wait. Be quiet now. He’s coming.”
They saw Pierre Moose moving toward them. He was walking softly and carrying a big spear.
“What’s going on out here?” he asked.
“We’re just talking,” BumBuna O’Brien said. “What’s the spear for?”
Pierre clicked his teeth and rubbed at his sandpaper face.
“Self-preservation mostly,” Pierre answered. “But I feel bad about you going hungry — thought I’d try to bag you some fish for supper.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll eat the sandwich.”
“I already finished it for you. Besides, I feel like doing a little fishing. Why don’t you get the fire pit going while I’m gone?”
Pierre looked at him differently. His cold eyes were suspicious now.
“I won’t be too long,” Pierre said, and then he went off down the path and soon he vanished.
“I don’t like this,” Saint Pedro said. “I don’t like this at all. He’s up to no good. I can feel it. We need to get out of here.”
“That’s not an option right now. If we went off in the boat at night, who knows where we’d end up. We’d probably drown.”
“I think he’s crazy.”
“Why?”
“What sane man lives alone on an island in the middle of nowhere?”
“Maybe he’s sane and the rest of us are crazy.”
“He’s upset. A lone man who gets upset is never a good thing. You should have eaten that damn sandwich!”
“Pipe down, Pedro. I’m going to do what he says and build the fire.”
“Well, then at least set me over on that log so I can watch you and not have to be alone.”
“Fine,” BumBuna O’Brien said, and he took the stone head of Saint Pedro and set it on the log. “Now just stay here while I get some firewood.”
BumBuna O’Brien went into the trees and gathered sticks and logs and branches. He dragged it all back to the circular fire ring little by little until there was a substantial pile. He went to work breaking down branches and piling the sticks. He put together a bundle of kindling and put it at the base.
“I don’t have any matches,” he said to Saint Pedro.
“Look in the house. He’s got to have matches in there.”
“Right.”
He went into the house, dug around and found an old coffee can stuffed with matchbooks. Then he thought he heard a terrible scream. He ran outside but saw nothing. He lit the fire and soon it was roaring. The day was fading as Pierre emerged in the clearing. He was dragging something large along the ground behind him.
BumBuna O’Brien looked up at the man who had seemed to have grown larger and sterner.
“Come here and help me with this,” Pierre ordered.
BumBuna O’Brien went over, but when he saw what Pierre had, he jumped back.
“What the hell is that!”
“A trespasser,” Pierre grinned.
“You speared him? Why in the world would you do that?”
“I told you, he was a trespasser. This is private property. I have a right to defend my island.”
“So, you just killed a complete stranger? Why didn’t you just tell him to leave for crying out loud?”
“I don’t have to defend my actions to you. My God, I’ve done nothing but help you! I’ve welcomed you here, to my home, and all you ever do is complain. Now, are you going to help me with this or not!?”
“What are you planning on doing with him?”
“He’s going to eat him!” Saint Pedro cried out.
“I am not!” Pierre yelled. “I don’t ever eat them.”
“Them,” BumBuna O’Brien wondered.
There was silence. Pierre looked at them. His eyes were wide with madness. “I don’t ever eat them,” he repeated.
“Then what in the hell do you do?” BumBuna O’Brien demanded to know.
Pierre’s head drooped. “I collect them,” he answered.
“I told you he was crazy!” Pedro yelled out from the log.
“No, it’s nothing like that,” Pierre said. “It’s like a hobby, really. I give dignity to them. I honor their memory by preserving their bodies.”
“I would like to leave,” BumBuna O’Brien requested. “Please take me back. I won’t ever say anything to anyone.”
Pierre slapped a hand to his forehead. “No! You can’t just leave. Not yet. Please. You must understand. It gets very lonely here. Let me just show you, both of you, and then you’ll get it, and then in the morning I’ll row you to wherever you’d like.”
“Don’t listen to him!” Pedro called out. “It’s a lie. He has no intention of ever letting us go.”
Pierre grew angry. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! You damn head!”
BumBuna O’Brien tried to soothe the tension. “All right, Pierre. Just settle down. You can show us. I understand.”
Pierre looked at him. “You do?”
“Of course. Loneliness is a terrible thing.”
“What are you doing?” Pedro demanded to know.
“Just give him a chance to show us,” BumBuna O’Brien snapped back. “If you don’t stop making things worse, you’ll go back in the sack.”
They followed him by torchlight as he dragged the body to an outbuilding behind the house. They heard the body hit the ground as he released his grip so he could fumble with the lock. They heard a chain rattle, then slide. A heavy door was moved to one side and the metal material made a loud clanging noise. Pierre disappeared into the darkness.
“Wait here,” he said.
Then one by one, lamps were lit, and an orange glow began to blossom forth from the blackness. And soon the reality of Pierre’s madness came to light as the bodies became visible. There was an entire group of them, nearly two dozen — men, women, children, even dogs — and they were stitched up neatly, clothed, with grotesque upturned smiles and shiny lake stones for eyes. Some were positioned in chairs, others left standing. Some were made to look as if they were engaged in conversation with each other. Some simply stared out into space.
Pierre came back to the entrance and pulled the body up and into the building. He let it drop to the floor near a large table.
“Come in,” he insisted. “Take a look around.”
BumBuna O’Brien stepped over the threshold with Pedro clutched tightly in his hands.
“Well,” Pierre wondered. “What do you think?”
“It’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Saint Pedro said, and BumBuna O’Brien quickly clamped a hand over his cold stone mouth.
“Go on,” Pierre encouraged. “Take a closer look.”
They moved forward, and then the metal door boomed closed behind them.
“I don’t want any wild animals getting in here and destroying my work,” Pierre said.
BumBuna O’Brien looked down at Saint Pedro. The stone head’s eyes were wide with fear. He kept his hand pressed hard over the mouth.
“That’s quite a collection of people you have there,” BumBuna O’Brien said.
“Thank you. Come here. Closer. I want you to meet my best friend in the world. He was the first.”
Pierre guided them to a tall man in the very front. He was dressed in fishing clothes and had a round hat atop his head. The face was full of fear despite the fact Pierre had stitched the corners of the mouth up.
“His name is Rick,” Pierre said proudly. “Go ahead, say hello. Don’t be rude.”
BumBuna O’Brien looked up at the frightening face and tried to smile. “Hello there, Rick. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
There was no reply.
“Ahh, he never says too much,” Pierre said. “He’s the quiet type. Actually, they’re all the quiet type.”
And then he came forth with an insane, seething snicker that sent shivers up and down BumBuna O’Brien’s entire being. Saint Pedro’s head slipped out of his hands and dropped to the floor with a thud.
“You fool!” the head cried out. “You could have cracked me in half!”
Pierre suddenly reached down and scooped Pedro up. He held him before his face and studied him.
“Put me down you lunatic! Put me down!”
“You know,” Pierre began. “You really, really grind my gears. I don’t like that. You’re starting to upset my friends here as well, and I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”
Pierre quickly walked across the outbuilding to the door. He slid it open, tossed Pedro into the darkness, and slid the door shut again with a bang. Then BumBuna O’Brien thought he heard him pick something up. Then Pierre was walking toward him, slowly, calculating. BumBuna O’Brien was more afraid than he had ever been in his life.
And then it came, a searing pain right in his guts, the inability to breathe, and finally complete darkness.
Pierre sat in a chair in the outbuilding. He was eating a liverwurst sandwich and drinking a glass of milk as he admired the newest member of his clan. It was BumBuna O’Brien’s body, but in place of his own head was the stone head of Saint Pedro. The mouth was completely chiseled away now so that he didn’t have to listen to the incessant talking.
“Oh, my yes,” Pierre said. “You’re much more agreeable to my nerves when you don’t speak, my stone headed friend.”
The mouth didn’t move of course, but the eyes did, and they frantically darted from side to side as if Saint Pedro BumBuna O’Brien was screaming some never-ending scream.
You invented love like dragons spit fire the longing when you are gone, is an immediate reaction I’m drawn to your eyes I’m drawn to the night the full vibrato of darkness the stars splashed so randomly across the universe we can touch them if we try
Candles melt away so quickly here this otherworld, this neverwhere We are a collision of chemistry wrapped in coils of electricity The ache of our day becomes the joy of our night empty wine glasses and ghosts the bluest tears, the reddest blood
The valve has been wrestled loose the drips drop incessantly throughout the house Impenetrable venom impenetrable malaise Someone broke the switch on the furnace and it’s coughing up hot laughing gas and I choke on my own experiences Am I sad? Am I happy? Am I a supernova, Or just merely a simple star, blinking randomly from within this skull of space?
Am I a colored moon peacefully napping with a nightcap perched upon my point Or am I a black hole, sucking on everything that exists? Or am I merely a chemical byproduct that sits in an empty room, waiting for night to pass and day to begin, when I can talk to you and feel my heart thunder against the world
But sometimes, I just want to be a rocking chair, swaying gently amidst the dust of a long-gone grandparent’s den, listening to the easy tick of the clock on the mantle, watching the footsteps fade deeper into the carpet, waiting for the sounds and smells of a childhood lost forever lost in the woods of autumn, across the icy bridge of winter, into the wet grass of spring and along the thick dreams of summer on some Midwestern small-town porch
And so, when do dreams end and reality begin? When is night’s finale and day’s birth? One fluid sweep of time and the Earth still tilts and I still stare at the ceiling, catching glimpses of you in my mind’s eye the baby’s breath in my fist falls, landing in a blanket of fresh snow, you pull up into the white gravel and I can see your smile through the windshield my heart still rattles as the sun breaks through the clouds, and your hand clutches me in dreams.
CEREAL AFTER SEX 