So much. So little time. It's too much to hold with tiny human fingers. Flying through coast line boundaries, Seattle, Portland, Redwood barks, California arks, San Franciscan hills, deserts, canyons, Arizonan phoenix cries, crayola creeks, Austin heat, New York City subway stops, and I don't. Stop. Utah Conneticut Beating first east, upwards, north, Canada you called? Toronto. Niagra. Iceland soon and lagoon lapping at electric toes. Exchanging faces at each airport, the new ones already beautifully aged, already distant friends reunited. Grace. Naima. The old ones grown. Tash. with higher heads held proudly. Olivia. And the everyday ones who have never been everyday but seem so always there, it's impossible to unpaint them from everyday frame. Rich. Anais. Where are we now? What have we done? Who did we become? Where did you come from? Where did you go? The tales my soles could dance for you. My boots encrusted with America, those little magpies sucking at each new wild terrain. I made wild these quivering feet. Scared girls don't bend the way the wind blows. It is my mouth that slicks go in whispers to onced rusted ankles now. Shivering heels stilled. And set. In motion
They're playing Ben Howard. So of course I'm introspective.
It's an unfortunate side effect of feeling.
Continental drifter. From London to Portland - a year at Reed College
