deuteragonist

I sat in my   Solitude Upon the edge where the wind   Blows       and the sea               Crashes And i thought of the mystics,     of                                   Kerouac                        Cassady              Burroughs      Ginsberg and MORIARTY back against mine, told tales in my comfort               of secrecy, we sat and shared a smoke                             against                     the                                   pale                     eaves of the moon but with the wind he                                 w                                      i                    

We sat in the red dirt of Arizona, backs against an old battered wooden shed. Epathy scribbled her dreams down on a paper bag which housed our meatloaf sandwiches which we ate 3 hours after packed, 1 day after the bread housed the meatloaf, and a week after meat became loaf. She sat so beautifully attentively, her eyes half dazed, lips so utterly soft unburdened by the heat and dirt clouds of red. Her dreams so subtle painted vividly through ink even with an oil stained background, I too wondered how the meatloaf contained traces of oil. It was worth it, the 8 mile walk along the beating heat and burden of the sun to be here, amongst the beau