in a Missouri motel cigarette bed, I am overwhelmed by the sweetness of you, the fellow child with whom I gladly share so many of my hours. i do my best to push away the fear that edges at me nightly, before my legs wrap between your ankles, the worry of all the days that come after and after–when I am dead, what will I have done? when I am old, will you have loved me well. it matters little in the day. I am laughing, I am ignoring family phone calls, I am making daydream plans for all the coming months of art and pleasure. I am riding in this car across the country.

Kansas is long and flat and makes me nervous, but even now it is behind us. I make my promises again that yes, yes, soon I will work hard, I will turn the machines in the basement until my dreams come true.