lowdown bike riding blues

Low.

Feeling kinda low. Hang my head off the edge of my sofa and sigh. Why? I dunno. Run out of the rock show on my bike peddling for my life. Why? Turn down invitations and sit and smoke all the pall malls. Why? The world turns slow. The days go and go. And I'm so low.

Maybe friends with bottles and stories will help. Maybe a conversation that comes easily would bring some peace. Not tenmillionstories running thru my brain and the everpresent hum of the world that won't turn off its lights. Low.

I got 3 pieces into 'Every Reason' issue 6. I'm waiting on 2 more publishers. Will I be 1 for 3, 2 for 3, or make a home run? I miss my grouchy no poetry writing mentor. I miss his laugh. I miss his stories of hustling books and handywork. I miss his face. I can't call him because I don't have a phone, and if he reads this, he'll hate all my run on sentences and misspelled words. I love him.

Mary came by yesterday. I missed her too. I miss too many people. What's wrong with me? Low.

I'm starting Milan Kundera's the book of laughter and forgetting. This may or may not be a good idea. I've got to read up on horticulture, i'll be gardening soon. i miss uncle steve. he's in love and in his own world and he'll read this and shake his head. I miss my husband because he works and sleeps and asks me all the time whats wrong with me. I don't know. Low.

Someone help me lift the low. Bend down over with me and pick it up. We'll tie to the broken kite and sail it away. I am mourning the death of something. I don't want to tell you what, but after this weekend it may be inevitable. Low. It's such a beautiful thing we've made. Why won't they just come and see it. Appreciate it. Love it like I do.

I've got to stop listening to these bike riding blues. Spokes turning like prayerwheels with empty dreams and lost intentions. All the people in cars are driving off to live thier lives. I watch them when they have apathy in thier eyes, glazed over on autopilot with the lists of chores or people eating them up inside. I see freewheeling teenagers behind sunglasses roaring like thier death will never come. I see women in tears in thier SUVs. I see men in cowboy hats with mardi gras beads dangling from thier rear view mirrors looking for a party everywhere, honking at every bare leg. Kids staring out the windows, driven to thier next experience.

I ride my bike at night and sometimes i want to ride off into forever. dark quiet and unnoticed. I could just dissapear like Enid on the imaginary bus out of town.

I miss my best friend. Fuck her. Fuck her life without me.