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Now I’m in Cheboygan


The band plays ‘Under the Bridge’


There’s a Wolverine above the mirror


‘Bernadette’ I told my car ‘You’re my gal, just you’ finally doing 90 miles and free from labor day Zingerland traffic


One guy looks like James Franco a bit punched out by ‘small town drama’ as he put it..

He’s seeing one of the two pretty bartenders, 

(actually every single woman in this bar is beautiful and none are single) but his mind is doing 50, his mind is playing pool.. 


What good advice I could give him? Zero.

I just sipped slowly my sierra and wrote on the napkin


The drummer’s mother


‘You write?’ the woman with the walker came up to me


‘I’m the drummer’s mother’


I looked over at the drummer, he was drumming loud


All I could see in her eyes was acceptance and love


‘This is just a small good town’


‘I’m a published poet,’ she said ‘I’ll read you one next break’


She went back to her table and danced, she danced with a walker, in some ways this was the most beautiful thing I’d seen, well since Micha, or the tall girl swaying with the big tattooed guy


She recited me a poem


It was about ..


a belonging that I couldn’t understand


She waved and cheered as I drifted out the door


the music still drummed bright


Wooden Shark 


‘This is the Road’

I told myself aloud

Driving up to UP


You leave before you can’t leave


Stay or leave

Right or left


Those are essentially the only questions


You watch everything pass and 

Feel the weight of it passing pass


Only the true form of your longing 

will remain


The rest are blades of grass passing


The green you keep


There’s a wooden shark above her fridge


‘This is the Road’


You leave before you

Can’t leave


300 miles north


Like trying 

To write about

Falling out of that plane

I can only write this one now


I give up


A Letter


I started to write her a letter

But it threatened to dis-

Close the mystery

That early river


Created myths and

Fire to reveal and conceal

I tripped over the grail in the snow with her one night too soon to know what was inside the empty trees of the great forest 


On my side of the landslide

I was still running


We were alone 

In the letter

I stopped writing

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