We Talk
hunched & huddled together
we
talk rock ‘n’ roll in battered leather jackets
&
weathered boots over strong cups of coffee
in covert agreement
we
talk Los Angeles & the New York sound
but
mostly we just shoot the shit about nothing
opulence to squalor
in
unspooled metaphors
for countless hours
we
talk between bites of day-old stale confections
two
rapid minds hatching conspiracies strange &
verbose
in detail, what some might dare refer to as
grievous triumphs
combined wounds bound & sacred
we
talk about traveling through twisted mountains
to
reach bright lights & big cities & small towns to
loud crowded gigs
spit, smoke & spurs – an
unfettered blur
a
wild flood of accrued backseat/stage memories
we
talk
with ease, mapping out the
trajectory of
collective electrified
blues
***
Just a poem. Written on a Friday morning commute
when I wanted to read my book, the Universe thought better and that I should be
writing. So, I did.
I’m hitting up a rock show at The Marquee
tomorrow night. Perhaps that’s where it was culled from. Wherever the particles
materialized from, I was just happy, as always, to write something down.
Getting closer to the date too I get to workshop
Big Magic with Elizabeth Gilbert. Counting sleeps. I am grateful the workshop
is coming at the same time I’m working on the creative non-fiction pieces for
Family Ties. I think it’s going to be an asset in that regard in addition
to a salve for my soul.
Happy Friday, peeps!
In propinquity,
Nic
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