most of it fits in boxes–books, clothes, kitchen knives, dvds. and, it will all be on the road soon, headed across states and states. i'll be the one on the road, listening to podcasts with the seats folded away, boxes meticulously tucked away. setting the cruise-control, i'm going to sweep across this country, starting here in the midwest and ending up in the northeast.
because when there's nowhere you're supposed to be, there's everywhere you're gonna go. i'm going to chase God through city blocks in Chicago, to the North Woods of Wisconsin, to Indianapolis, through Ohio, until God hits the sunrise on the Atlantic in Rye, New Hampshire. when that sun breaks across the horizon and the air heats up, the sea sprays against the rocky coast and we're all there. we were all wrapped up in it; now, we're being unfolded with each wave. then, we'll eddy behind neglected sandcastles until another wave takes us out to sea.
we're drifters on an endless sea–try that for a cliché. put words like that on a roadtrip; see how the mixing of road and sea suits entire days spent in cars. an endless sea, that suits the whole of what it is right now.
graduated without much place else to go but drift–i should build a raft out of fallen trees, rope and other island-survivor miscellanea.
3.5.08
on what stands in the way
Roadblocks are big, and they look like sociology papers, portfolios and professors.
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