Go Away

I'm building up the backend in a brand new place, setting up the little continuities that take me forward. I kept the only promise I made in my last first post. Here's the new one.

I was sitting up late, watching the digital time tick in six shades of black and white. Lately I've only been making a few naughty records between the covers of my little black notebook, toothpaste-smudged from being thrown in and fished out of overnight bags. It's time to elaborate just enough so no one knows.

"Summertime slut," Mariah says, and I can't quite agree. We've always been more eye-to-thigh than eye-to-eye.

There were new words in the sidewalk--"go away," they said, in spiked letters, as if someone laid toothpicks into the wet cement. I left Saturday morning, so early I hadn't yet slept. I flew into the sun, changed planes, and followed it across the South.

Let me go over your head. The morning of the first and the morning of the first day; the barest I can leave behind or the closest I'll come to digging out. I sit next to the open window and listen to the roaring white of wasted air conditioning. Now I lie in bed and map the cardinal directions to draw us closer. It's hard to learn, hard to change the map. Don't stop there. Dream until it happens. Prepare for close reads.