Once again I woke to the gale force wind that is my past
It clung to my leg trying to lure me with
The sound was like something from Poe
It was visual.
That cold wind turned warm then
The Santa Ana’s
Hot and thick
The smell of the trails
Of stoner friends from high school
And the future
While I was painfully present.
My phone rings
And it’s my dragon father
Forgetting he has called
His Jacob Marley never leaves him now.
The California sky teases us
With rain that will never come
But the smell is enough for now
It’s heated arms holding my history like a Faberge egg.
It’s early to pour a vodka tonic, I know
But somewhere my heroes and Hitchens
Are telling me to relax, I’m on the right track.
Ah the sweet alliteration. Missing my Walter fix, but scanning the alternate electronic tendrils I find satisfaction. [giggles gin gimlet in toast]