the nomad to the vagrant, and a lover's real estate

we long to live, to travel, to seek the new and obscure
we tend to do it, humbly, without pride in standoff, but pride in the aptitude
of courage as a fearful lion; those demons in which we do not know
are much more promising than those we already succumb to.

theft from this place challenges the mortal pockets from which it came
bottles empty, rooms vacant, streaming sounds from instruments without strings
drain drink suck away from dues never repaid
even in gratitude, great things great thinkers spent forever to explain
the wise sit still while the facts are laid out with

A+B=C.

i remember still driving in a silver and blue GMC Safari
through a small town, lined with quaint restaurants, craving to make sense of cute boys.
i remember thinking about my sister in college as i write her down into pages of a notebook that never get filled. it was warm i imagine. things were green. to have her on my mind meant that we were somewhere in Iowa, or Georgia, or a place i have no idea where.
But i feel, there.

I remember still a restaurant, dark, narrow, with high ceilings. The walls painted a shade of blue like the blurred vision of a starry night. I remember a table in the front corner, a lip of the tri-walled space spilling out onto the more warmly lighted entrance. I ate soup in a sourdough breadbowl for the first time. The place, wherever it was was different than that van.

I remember stewed tomatoes in a cellar at williamsburg, after we saw people dressed in costume, living the life of lives spent and dad saying that he didn't much care for stewed tomatoes. I love stewed tomatoes.

if we lose our memory, do we lose our minds?

57% of your saturated fat intake
based on a % daily value
of pride.