past vessel travel

when I catch myself drifting
into an inanimate object, I’ll
snap out of it, kinda like when
you’re driving and all of a
sudden don’t remember the last
ten miles.

in these times of lost time, I
like to think that I have traveled
to a previous memory,or, more grand,
turning up in my anterior vessel,
always younger, thicker hair and
most assuredly an idealist.

back in: driving the wind up laurel
canyon, the wind brushing by both
warm and cool. weave up that
hill, the lights of the valley
flickering and calm. the verdugos, a
shadowy cut-out reaching and
painted above burbank. a right
onto mulholland, the cliffs tumbling
down on both sides, the sun beaten
hustle of the day now a soft hum.

back in: eyes searching the atlantic
ocean, the surf glancing your
shoes, groups of bubbles disappearing
into the sand. the lighthouse moon,
creating that angelic and sparkling
tunnel that goes out to everything and
all that is. head drifts up to
hurried clouds, heading out to a ship’s
lone light and a thunderstorm far
off over open water, rhythmically
flashing from top to bottom, seemingly
never ceasing, like your youth.

back in: stomach getting warm at
the sight of heather, your eighth
grade crush. jealous of the wind
twirling her long dark brown hair
about at the bus stop. excited about
the moments before sleep so you can
create stories about how and where
you’ll kiss her the first time.

when I snap myself out of it, the
lost time spent in a tabletop
pattern or a plant on the desk- I
like to think that I went back for
the briefest of moments, to when
everything was pure and


2/3rds into a bottle of cheap cab,
I gaze over to my phone hoping that
a beautiful woman will text me but
that won’t happen. so, i’ll pretend
to be a poet as my senses go all
abstract and pure-

keep thinking back on that moment earlier
at a local coffeeshop. feet propped up
on a metal chair, the sun baking my
brains while reading a k. dick book


bakes my brains. look up and see four
young bucks on bikes stopping at the
intersection, the one in the back yells,

“hey, where are we going?”
leader of the pack says,
“to get some ice cream!”

then see a man, probably early twenties,
on bike crossing the other side. pull
sunglasses off and flip them, peer into
puffy eyed self and say:

“I know you want to be part of this, but if
you get on a bike, the burnt out cilia will
make you think twice. just go home bucko,
drink those lesser grapes, light another smoke
and stare at that phone that will never buzz a
brunette beauty begging for your company.”