FALLING DOWN INTO SPACE – A Poem and some light fiction

Posted: August 25, 2018 in fiction, LIFE AND STUFF, POETRY, Random stuff--read at your own risk!
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Falling down into space,
To see,
How far the rabbit hole goes.

There I was, sitting on the side of the road, looking for life through a bottle of Jack I bought a mile back, taking sips here and there, flipping off the desert rocks across the way from me.

It was a good day to be alive, sitting there, the sun baking my pale white skin a hard burnt brown.

Crows swirled over head, cawing to the beat of a music only they could hear, the coming of a summer storm brewing west of here, a vague breeze blowing around to keep the scene alive.

Mary, my last girl friend, before I became a single road runner on a trip to the sea, was outside of Boston, looking into that same sky as I was, only she was in Boston.

I drank another gulp of that whiskey which was soon becoming warm and had to be consumed before it became hot.

Summer time would soon end, as every season did, but I would remember it as I finding America as I traveled down the road; that con man in Cinncy looking for a dime to buy a burger, if he got a quarter, he could also get fries with that.

$1.85 for a platter.

$2.75 add a milk shake.

Cindy Lou, the sweet young mother from Salt Lake City, trying to find herself before her child became a teenager and hated her guts for raising her wrong.

That’s what teenagers did, it seemed, being angry monkeys, flinging poo at their mothers and then, when they hit their twenties or even thirties, figuring out that their parents were okay and they, the teenagers, were pricks.

I wanted to fall asleep, under a tree, a weeping willow, to stare into the sky, to wonder if any life was out there, intelligent life, too smart to contact us, humanity.

But as I drifted into thought, dreams, some car drove by, stopped.

“You need a ride?” the driver shouted out.

I nodded and headed over and got in.

“Where you heading?”

“West my friend, towards the sea…”

And that’s where the journey went.

Hank was an encyclopedia salesman from Tulsa, trying to sell books in the information age.

“I ain’t doing well…” he sighed, taking a hit off the bottle I had with me.

“Yeah, I ain’t either!” I said.

We stopped at some town to replenish our supplies.

Gin this time and a few bottles of whiskey, a six pack of beer each.

It was 75 miles to the next supply stop, in some desert town, like this one.

I thought about leaving this caravan, to find myself in this one horse town.

It had a bar, two toilets there, and a mile down the road, there was an all night liquor store.

The bar served hamburgers.


All that matter but I stayed on, Hank was pleased.

“I thought you’d go after that blonde we met. Glad you didn’t…”

The car sped along, mile markers drifting by, we were drunk by seventy two, pulling over around midnight at some rest stop.

“Shit!” I yelled.

The gin was gone.

We both cried.

Then passed out.



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