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Booty Tax

20 Jul

There was finally that tackler he couldn't elude. R.I.P. AIR McNair

Alas,there was finally that tackler he couldn't elude. R.I.P. AIR McNair

I had a friend in college who would tell these ridiculous stories that were unbelievable.

Usually they involved him losing an anal bead inside a girl, or a chick peeing on him, or a woman requesting that he and a bunch of his friends “kidnap” her and act out a rape fantasy of hers.

At the time I was 25, fairly inexperienced and shocked. The first time he told me a chick peed on him, I was disgusted…..then aroused…….and curious.

So he became my sexual guru. If I had a question about a woman, he was the guy I called. He’d tell me these stories about squirters and freaky Romanian chicks and finally i asked, where and how do you meet these gals?

He told me, “Bobby you just need to meet you a crazy chick, with a sordid sexual past, and possibly Daddy issues, if she’s bulimic that could be a plus.”

And I took his advice, and it led me to some strange places. From 26 to 30 I found myself in the bedrooms of Portuguese cleaning ladies, 48 year old dental assistants, 35 year old nannies, and married Montessori teachers.

You talk about strange trips. The thing was, he was absolutely right. The sexual experiences were pretty out there, I did everything I’d ever imagined (well except the old uncork the champagne bottle in the Vijayjay gag) and it was fun.

But also scary too. He warned me that there’d be a booty tax no matter what woman I’d choose, but I ignored him and would blame him for the advice he gave me.

When he did it, it was always funny, and sounded so glamorous. What’s that they say? “never let the truth get in the way of a good story.”

After many episodes of creepy, intense women, and high incidents of hysterical crying, sometimes shrieking, I decided enough was enough.

Regular old sex was good enough for me. I no longer need to get peed on, or have sex in exotic places. My libido is right where it needs to be.

I no longer have to jerk off on people’s answering machines to have fun. I’d rather just feel safe.

My brother’s crazy girlfriend once stabbed him because she suspected (incorrectly) that he was cheating on her (well at least for the night in question).

After my own Bukowski-esque episodes with women, and other strange stories I’ve heard of other people, I finally realize that two crazy people cannot be together and it be a good thing.

What good is freaky, crazy sex if you can’t live to talk about it later?

Consider all the stories you’ve heard of late, Steve “Air” McNair, that Boxer dude, Gatti, hell remember the “grits” episode with Al Green?

I’ve caught the paranoia for sure. I now feel the need to lock my doors when I go to sleep, or leave the house, and I stay aware of my surroundings for sure.

Was it worth it? Maybe. I’d like to think I’m capable of living a normal life and having a healthy sexual relationship with a girl without the need to do something bizarre.

Perhaps I got it all out of my system and just needed that outlet back then to experiment. Or maybe I was just crazy and needed women just as crazy(or crazier) to make me feel normal.

I don’t know, don’t even care to get too deeply into it, but I do know this, as scary as Fatal Attraction is, its no where near as scary as seeing it in real life.

Whether its opening the door to your apartment and seeing your ex huddled up in a ball by the entrance, or fumbling with the locked door to your home, trying to elude an angry girl with a butcher knife.

No movie can capture the amount of fear and adrenaline that arises when you step into those moments. Who knows, maybe that is the biggest and main source of arousal when dating a crazy chick.

Like being a male preying mantis, living on the edge, and finally dying to bust that fatal nut.

No sir, crazy just aint sexy anymore.

Gary Snyder

20 Jul

Its not like I wanted to come over, have tea, read poetry, take mushrooms, smoke dope, and discuss politics. I'd have settled for a handshake.

Its not like I wanted to come over, have tea, read poetry, take mushrooms, smoke dope, and discuss politics. I'd have settled for a handshake.

Dear Mr. McFail.

Gary Snyder says to tell you that he’s older than you think, and retired from teaching 9 years ago. He lives in the mountains a long way from Davis. He is not “Japhy Ryder” but one of several modesl for that character. The “Dharma Bums” is a novel, not journalism. And he says he is not reading any new material.

best wishes,
Jann Garitty, Assistant to Gary Snyder

Well, Looks like I won’t be visiting Gary Snyder after all. A bit of a shame considering his age and and the history he holds within his brain cells.

Dharma Bums is one of my favorite books, and its hard not to fall in love with the Japhy Ryder character. Ladies man, ecologist, and poet, he was one of those characters that embodied what it meant to be a renaissance man.

I have a few friends that fall into this character, a buddy of mine living in Oregon certainly comes to mind when i think of real life examples of Japhy Ryders.

As disappointed as I am that I won’t get to meet the man himself, I certainly understand. I’m sure he gets thousands of emails and letters from “writers” and fans just wanting to be near him.

I can imagine it gets annoying. I do feel quite lucky that he even responded. Years ago, there was a columnist from ESPN named Ralph Wiley who iw as a huge fan of.
I’d spent a summer reading all of his stuff, “Why Black People tend to Shout” and other books by him. He was a great voice for sports, honest and insightful, and one of my favorites.

I remember after one morning of reading his article (hew as one of the few who’d predicted the ’04 Pistons would beat the Lakers), I thought I should email him and tell him how much I loved his work.

Of course I didn’t, ended up playing grab ass with my then girlfriend, or something, and figured I could email him some other time.

Well he died of a heart attack later that week. It struck me as odd, because he was only 52, but also because I’d just finished one of his books.

He was a great writer, and funny, and his death left a big void in the sports writing world. And all I kept thinking was I should’ve emailed him.

I’ve sent letters and emails to various people over the last ten years from Radiohead to Wayne Coyne, of the Flaming Lips, to the Sports Guy Bill Simmons, and not one of them has ever responded.

Well of course, Snyder didn’t respond either. But he at least told his assistant to take the time to write me and tell me to “get lost, scram, to beat it kid.”

I’m honored really. One of the last links to the Beat Generation had his assistant write me and tell me to fuck off, but in a slightly polite way. Seriously I can dig it.

And the truth is, I didn’t email him to be another sychophant scmhuck, telling him something he needs to hear. He already knows he’s awesome, you don’t make it that far, not knowing that. He doesn’t need the ego stroke.

I did it for me. I did it because it needed to be said, just to tell him, “hey motherfucker, I know you could really give a shit, but your presence in this world, turned my life upside down. And I realized I couldn’t live my life the same way ever again.”

and what is a person to say to that? Thanks? Cheers?

No response will be anything short of awkward, and yet its almost necessary to send those sort of letters.

Why? I don’t know, because if you appreciate something or someone, it feels good to tell them. No matter what the response.

“I love you” is one of those weird phrases as well. If you’re saying it for the response back then it aint real. I say it to friends all the time and it gets a bit awkward, but at least they know, and it doesn’t bottle up, and when they go, I can at least know that they knew how I felt.

I say it, I give give gifts because it feels good to, not for what I’ll get in return. Its a totally selfish endeavor nonetheless, and I think there’s nothing wrong with that.

Music Therapy

14 Jul

Many a night spacing out to the sounds of his guitar. In some ways David Gilmour and (other musicians) saved my life

Many a night spacing out to the sounds of his guitar. In some ways David Gilmour and (other musicians) saved my life

To say that music is my religion would be an understatement.
I don’t think its an accident that most of my friends are either musicians or people who absolutely love music.

Live shows, sitting around and listening to tunes, or geeking out to a new band has been one of many ways to bond with me.

I’ve turned many a lonely day into a reflective time sitting in the backyard, with my trusty 3-footer and my cd player.

Its how I got through years 19-21, trudging through the Duncanville, Texas doldrums.

I had older cousins who listened to rap music growing up, and I remember the early beginnings of L.L. Cool J, Run DMC, EAzy E, Too Short, and NWA.

I’d gotten in trouble for singing Project Hoe by Mc Shan as well as Me So horny by 2 Live Crew. Of course I didn’t know any better, it was just a song, but I could imagine how weird it was for my parents to hear their 11 year old singing “Me So Horny.” How absurd.

Music was always big in my family, my aunt was a singer and my unlce played guitar and there would always be jam sessions, either singing or dancing, but there was always music playing somewhere in someone’s house.

The first time a song really hit me on a profound level was listening to Moody Blues on my earphones as a 12 year old.
My aunt had this mix tape and Nights in White Satin was followed by Harry Nilsson’s Without You.

It was late at night, I was sleeping on the top bunk and my cousin was asleep beneath me and it was raining of course. And forever reason, both songs just seemed so real.

The imagery just stuck there, right between my ears. Disappointed lovers, letters written that were never sent.”

And though I was too young to fully grasp the depth of what these lyrics meant I could certainly feel the tone of the music settle within my stomach.

On some level I understood and would truly realize the significance of these stories as my own heartbreaks would ensue over the years, some real, others imagined, all legitimate tools for learning those lessons on love.

For the next couple of years I’d develop a fascination with the classics, and oldies, especially soft rock from the 70’s and 80’s.

Carly Simon’s “Coming around Again” was a favorite, Gordon LightFoot’s “If you could read my mind” Spandeau Ballet was also a personal fave, can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to and rewound that one.

So when all the hip and cool kids were listening to grunge rock, I was jamming out to the oldies, falling asleep to “Mandy” on the radio.

Around 13 or 14 I started branching out, my neighbors were these 19-20 year old guys who were always playing pool and drinking beer (and smoking pot but I didn’t know that back then).

It was over their house that I’d first heard “Black” by Pearl Jam, around this time was the first time I’d heard Creep and Fade into You by Mazzy Star. Achtung Baby was a pretty popular album then, but it would take me a couple of more years before i’d really sink my teeth into U2 even though “One” was a really great tune.

By the time I had graduated high school, my two favorite bands were Radiohead and U2. I’d spend my weekends listening to them on the stereo, biding my time, since I couldn’t go anywhere because of my grades.

School was my social outlet and my only escape from my home life. Otherwise I was sequestered in my room, listening to High and Dry, or Zooropa, or Achtung Baby.

To show you how square I was, when I got my own apartment with my buddy from high school,
I really thought that buying some Barry White, Frank Sinatra, and Al Green would succeed in getting me laid.

I’d failed to realized that you had to get them to the place first. It never worked out and I’d spend my evenings off from Red Lobster, listening to OK Computer and drinking Boone’s Farm, sulking through “Exit Music for a film”.

My life changed though when I realized the magical powers of pot. I’d just bought the Led Zeppelin boxed set and gotten high off my fish bong I’d made from a margarita glass.

Sitting in the back yard at my aunt’s house I had a few puffs and then had to lay down. The room started spinning as “Whole Lotta Love” got really trippy…..it was all over after that.

My descent into madness began here. Then came the psychedelic period of Pink Floyd and LSD experiments. My aunt knew I was a stoner so she never really suspected just how high I was, although she joked one time when I was listening to the Doors, that I must have progressed to other forms of drug use.

Little did she know how dead on she was. Atliens was always in the rotation then, and I could really relate to Andre’s lyrics about not living up to expectations, being on bended knee not having time to say Amen, before monkey wrenches were thrown, and monster trucks running over my picket fences.

I was a 20 year old carpet cleaner in Duncanville, Texas then i was a 20 year old parking lot attendant at the local race track, taking acid and listening to tunes on the radio at work.

Something had to give. So I got back in school, and transferred to a university, not knowing that I was going to one of the best music schools in the country.

That summer was the first I’d been exposed to some real jazz. A friend who worked at this record store gave me a copy of Jon Coltrane playing “Greensleeves” and I put on th headphones and watched the cars drive up and down the street. It just made sense.

So at UNT I befriended the jazzers, went to shows, and senior recitals,went on road trips to see shows and it was all gravy. Jazz changed the whole scope of my listening skills. I started listening to the overall landscape of pop songs, its textures and arrangements, and looked at the composition of it, rather than just a song with bass, drum, guitar, and vocals……..

best of all, music has always been my companion. For every break up I had, Neil Young, Jerry Garcia, or Thom Yorke have been there to assuage my feelings and hit those notes of pain residing in my gut.
Zuma, Disintegration, even Lift Your Skinny Fists in the Sky, proved to be awesome break up albums.
Getting me through those dark periods in my mid twenties.

When my grandma died, I listened to Old Laughing lady like nobody’s business. It really got me through, that and Flaming Lips, Soft Bulletin.

My old roommate used to joke that it was easy to tell whether he should come in my room or not based on what i was listening to. If I was jamming Neil Young (acoustic) i was better left alone.

Now a days I’ll just listen to something light whenever I feel blue. My Favorite Things is a good healing song (Coltrane’s version), Satie’s Gymnopedies, or even the Floyd’s Green is the Colour

Sometimes all it takes is doing yoga to Do Make Say Think’s And YET ANd YEt, or Grateful Dead’s Candyman, or He’s Gone, and don’t sleep on Brian Eno either, he’s got some very good etheral music that if you lie down and listen, certain parts of your body will feel less toxic.

My friend is a music therapist and I hope we can come to the day where all we have to do to deal with a mild case of depression is prescribe a joint and a copy of Neil Young’s On the Beach.

I’ve certainly played Junior Psychologist with myself by making Psychology my minor, but if it hadn’t been for drugs, and music, I can honestly say I wouldn’t have lived to write these very blogs today.
I’m amazed that I survived. through music I was alone, but never quite lonely.

But imagine a man coming in, feeling castrated by his overbearing wife, and job, and the good doctor says, I’m going to prescribe a gram of this Tazmanian Thunderfuck. and Mr. Finkelstein, it seems like you need some David Gilmour in your life.”

Then after a week of listening to these epic mind bending guitar solos by Gilmour and the Floyd, Mr. Finkelstein feels refreshed and ready to face the world again. And we’d all be better off for it.

a dime a dozen

14 Jul

If anybody knows about Pimpin' I'd think it's big Daddy.

If anybody knows about Pimpin' I'd think it's big Daddy.

When a man meets a woman, and if she’s fairly attracted (sometimes if she isn’t) I believe there are a series of thoughts running through his head.

If he’s aware of this or not is another story, but usually its Could I sleep with this woman? Would I sleep with this woman? and finally, Should I sleep with this woman?

Now, the resulting action is a totally different story altogether.

Some men are smart enough to think on it for a second, hypothesize and leave it at just a state of thought. Other men not as gifted in the brains department tend to act on these thoughts, even if they are already involved.

Some of them with women not even remotely as cool as the ones they already have. I was guilty of this a few times in college, chalking it up to a desire for variety rather than stupidity.

Only now can I admit how stupid I was. I’ve thrown away opportunities with various women simply because I couldn’t decide (And my friends think I’m difficult at restaurants).

Those friends who did decide to take the plunge always told me, “hey Bobby, when its the right one, you’ll know because it will be ridiculously easy.”

Its kinda true. There are plenty of good looking women out there. But when you meet one who just fits, you realize how special that is.

Physical attraction is one thing, but now that I’m 30 and can’t be led around by my Johnson, I require a bit more than looks to keep me interested. If a woman can’t hold a conversation with me (or vice versa) I lose interest quickly.

The biggest sex organ in the body is the brain. I like clever women, with a quick mind and good sense of humor. A nice pair of legs is a bonus obviously, there must be some physical chemistry.

I find it much easier to be friends with a funny, not so attractive, and sweet girl, who has interesting things going on in her head, than to hang around a smoking hot, vapid, and ultimately boring woman.

Tons of those out there. Believe it or not, after I met someone who was really special and offered something that no other girl had readily available, I wouldn’t even look twice at the aesthetically pleasing hot girls walking up and down the Toronto streets.

Not only had I met someone who was cute, and had a great pair of legs, but she was also funny and innaresting, and extremely sweet.
Don’t get me wrong. I meet these kinds of girls all the time, its just they usually are my friends’ girlfriends and wives.

So imagine my surprise when I discovered how lucky I’d been at meeting this young lady, and finding she was really single. giddyup!!!!!!!

Now I’m not saying I’m gona run off and get married or anything crazy like that. I’m just saying, its hard to find good friends who you can relate to on a genuine level, and even harder to find one that finds you sexually attractive.

As Big Daddy Kane says, “What do you have when you find you’ve only got $1.20 in your pocket and twelve hoes?”

“Proof that hoes come a dime a dozen.”

Much easier to get laid than to get a good backrub. That’s the good stuff.

Like the difference between McDonald’s and a home cooked meal. WacArnold’s will do the job, and is good in the short term (though you might regret it later).

although a home cooked meal takes a bit longer to prepare, it is much more satisfying, and involves a lot more love.

Sex Ed.

13 Jul

Stoutest defense you'll ever face.

Stoutest defense you'll ever face.

I really think that in Sex Education classes, that after pulling the kids aside to watch the outdated videos, they should give kids pointers on pleasing their lovers.

Girls, no more Kung Fu death grips on boy’s penises, and

boys will finally learn how to take off bras.

I think this has been such an intimidating thing for me over the years, not ever learning how to take a bra off. I’ve been known to even bypass the breasts in the past because I didn’t want to lose momentum and look like an idiot under pressure.

Its nerve wracking enough when you first start mugging down with a chick.
“Good gawd this feels so good, how far is this going to go? Do I touch the breasts? If so do i feel above the shirt, or go beneath, and if beneath then do i try to take off the bra?????”

I feel like Charlie Brown asking out the red haired girl in these situations.

“Oh goodness should I rub her crotch and if so do I just rub it over the jeans? Do I even attempt to take off the jeans, and if so then do I rub her cooter above the panties or take them off?”

You never want to make the first out at third base being too aggressive, but then again I’ve been way lax in some cases because I assumed there was gonna be another at bat, only to find out that was my only chance to get on base, which then results in me cursing myself for not being more aggressive.

Yet in those magical times when you do get them off, it’s like that scene in Pulp Fiction when they open the briefcase.

A solemn and silent awe and acceptance, and a moment of gratitude.

I used to date a lot of WASPy chicks who’d feel guilty about letting go and the only time they’d be fun was when they were drunk, then they could blame the alcohol and not feel guilty.

Sober, it’d be a battle of field position. And let me tell you…..those end zone defenses were tough, like the ’85 Bears. I had lots of drives stall at the goal line. No matter what I called, Fullback Blast, QB Sneak, the End Around……I’d settle for lots of field goals. and then the crowd would start booing me. ” You suck Mickey, you’ll never be as good as Troy Aikman!!!!!!”

Pat Summerall: “On comes the kicking team to try and salvage the drive.”

Canadian Bacon

13 Jul

Big Bear!! Big Bear!!!! Chase me!!!!!

Big Bear!! Big Bear!!!! Chase me!!!!!

Top 13 reasons why I love Canadians:

1)Bret “Hitman” Hart (My favorite wrestler of all time)
2)Toronto Maple Leafs uniforms (and Felix “the cat” Potvin)
3)The Band
4)Do Make Say think
5)Wolverine (from the Yukon and favorite comic book hero ever)
6) Broken Social Scene
7)Mark Messier (We have the same birthday)
8)1992 Toronto Blue Jays (David Cone was a stud and another Capricorn)
9) Arcade Fire
10)Neil Young (more on him later)
11)Kids in the Hall
12) John Candy
13) Godspeed You Black Emperor

I’m sure I’ll find more reasons on my next visit in August. That’s right bitches.

“I’m going back to Canada on a Journey Thru the Past. Will I still be in your heart and on your mind?” ~Neil Young~

Home.

8 Jul

You mean to tell me that Rocky beat Action Jackson and Mr. T in a three year span? That's a hell of a run.

You mean to tell me that Rocky beat Action Jackson and Mr. T in a three year span? That's a hell of a run.I pity the fool who believes that honkey bullshit

I said my last goodbye yesterday morning to my old friend Mr. Giles. Sporting a badly cut mohawk haircut, wearing the same clothes from two days before, stinking to high heaven with no socks on, and covered from head to toe in bug bites, I embraced my friend for what could be the last time in a long time.

He leaves on his own journey in a few months and so the next time I may see him might possibly be next summer, if things worked out that way.

On balance it was a good trip. a few hiccups here and there, didn’t sell any books, and didn’t perform as much as I should’ve. I could’ve easily just quit once the Toronto phase ended but it was important to see the rest of the east coast and get rid of those regional biases.

Glad to be back in Tulsa believe it or not. Love the slow laid back pace. It feels quite nice and Oklahoma feels very down to earth after being in the big cities back east.

Philadelphia was surprisingly friendly. I never felt threatened, but I imagine that it was pretty hard in south Philly for a black man in the 80’s. Especially with the “Rocky” craze going on back then. White people rooted for Rocky a little too much if you know what I mean.

So what now you ask?

Well, lot’s and lots of work. Halfway through the trip I realized just how much harder I was going to have to push in order to be where I wanted to be. and so the work begins.

I’ve got lots of flights to book, things to write, and people to email. It’s going to be an interesting rest of the year.

Nothing like traveling to confirm where you are as a person and in life. I’ve grown rather fond of Tulsa and my job and life here. I have good friends and a good job and Oklahoma is a rather nice place to hole up for a while. I have no regrets about coming here and no matter where I end up in the next 10-15 months, I’ll always love it here.

My scent and chemistry have been changed by the sights and sounds of traveling and now I’ve got to take that momentum and push forward. It will take a little bit to process things but for now its back to the grind.

see ya in a couple of weeks.

BM

Rooftop hellos /Platform goodbyes

6 Jul

There is such a profound feeling of busting through to the daylight on my buddy’s Brooklyn rooftop to have a smoke and a talk.

July 4th was an extra special one. My last day in NYC overlooking all the buildings and sky.

I finally got to see Japanther and Ninjasonik over in Bedstuy. Imagine my square ass walking through these neighborhoods. But lots of people dress the way I do in New York, tight bermuda shorts, cut-off blue jean shorts. Black kids skate boarding everywhere while listening to punk music.

It was a beautiful thing to see.

i thought about all this while taking my last toke for the week. Jay-Z was blaring on someone’s radio nearby, and we had a black president in office for the first time ever on this particular 4th.

i indeed felt like brushing my shoulders off.

Lots of friends not only making it here, but doing well. I couldn’t hate on this place, it was so alive, music playing everywhere, and people were actually friendly.

Even the women seemed to come out and make their presence known before i left (or maybe they always been around and I haven’t been paying attention)

I hugged my friend goodbye on the the 14th street stop and he stepped off onto the platform, then i headed towards times square. my vacation was officially over.

As we embarked on our evening journey towards Philadelphia, we rode out of the Holland tunnel to be greeted by 4th of July fireworks. I’m not one to pee in my pants about some fireworks, but there was something to be said about seeing a full moon along the NYC skyline and a smorgasbord of fireworks bursting in the distance.

If you can’t feel good about something like that, then well you need your pulse checked. Sometimes this country aint so bad to live in ya know?

eve of departure VII

4 Jul

A little hung over right now.

Heading out of town in 9 hours, to my last stop to hang with the great Andrew Jonathan Giles.

Jersey here I come.

worn out, really, ready for a long rest, the city has a way of wearing you out.

July 4th and I should be excited, but honestly i’ve had way too much excitement. already thinking about all the work i have to do when I get back. All the work i WANT to do when I get back.

Final thoughts on New York:

Great place, lots of fun.

Weird and exotic, I don’t stick out like a sore thumb here, i can simply blend. Weirder cats than me around.

It was a funny sensation to drunkenly look around FAt Cat’s and listen to live jazz and play ping pong with a bunch of folks who were once getting booze from me back in the UNT dorms.

I understand why people love New York City. it’s hip and exciting, lots to do.

it truly is a grand stage and great spectacle.

As for back home we got lots to do. I’ve got to book all my trips for the fall, finish the necessary projects by their (self-imposed) deadlines.

And now i get to get back to work…….

process the old, bring in the new and get my equilibrium back.

But New York didn’t kick my ass and take my wallet, what a difference nine years makes.

When I first came I was 21 and never been to a big city, it was quite overwhelming. kept thinking bout that Rolling Stones song, “Shattered“.

I’ll be back for sure to test the comedic waters and do some promoting for the new book coming out in September.

I reckon that aint too far away. looking forward to the farm, and then home.

Next time i’ll be blogging from my computer at work,

at home.

Effortless Reflection

2 Jul

It was unavoidable.
The pain and wonder
weren’t
worth giving
in to
the fear
of attachment.

She and the
city
worked
in tandem
to break
down
all
my defenses,

crumpling
under
her touch
until
I felt
my
whole body alive
with
self
awareness.

So when
I told
her I
loved
her

I couldn’t
have meant
the
accumulation
of all
her experiences
that
made her
who she
was.

I barely knew
her.

I didn’t just
mean
the amazingly
beautiful
woman
she was
becoming
right before
my very eyes.

Nor was I
just talking
about
the
invisible
orb
within her
that held
her
capacity
to empathize
and embrace
everything around her.

I was
also
saying
that I loved
the person
I was
when
I was
with
her.

It was effortless
to become
the person
I wanted
to be.

It finally
caught up
to me
when
the bus left
the downtown
Greyhound
station.

Passing
all
the streets
I’d roamed
just
weeks
and days
earlier.

Rethinking
my feelings
about the week
of rooftop conversations
and backyard
grilling,
and making
salads
from the
greens
in her garden.

Then I felt
myself
crying.

About
leaving her.

Crying about leaving
the city.

And finally
crying
about leaving
behind
the person

I was
going to
be.

~Edward Austin Robertson~