There’s a sweetness in the ivory gaslight and its chemical shimmer
There’s a life in every oily drop under the sole of my shoe
At the Pump staring at the gauge
Fat roar of a metal toad pulling up behind the partition
And the seat rises
And a man gets to his feet
Jeans tucked into his tired leather boots
Hide of the last buffalo
Four jackets to chain in the warmth and a broad hat to make the sun squint to see his face
Beard so wide it could hide every northern secret that wouldn’t thaw out come springtime
Navajo blanket bundled under the handlebars
A nomad breathing steam
We walked inside separately though both to buy cigarettes
He went to his bike and I-
I stopped him
And said
I don’t know who you are
And I don’t know your story
But I appreciate you-
What you got goin’ on here
And he gave an honest laugh
And looked out at something invisible
And then at me
Well It’s a fucked up story
I grinned and got in my car
Aren’t they all?
He nodded and we parted like that
And driving away from the pump I couldn’t control the welling up in my chest so that I felt I was going to burst
And I pounded on the sunroof and the steering wheel and pulled off the road
I know I’m stuck
Bound down
Building a nest
Insuring the nest
Renting the nest
Billing the nest
Writing off the nest
And I know he’s out there
Sleeping under the night sky for me
A man with worries and pain all his own and scars so intense you could smell them
But he’s sleeping under the stars for me
And I shed a tear for him
For me
For my pity
And for envy
That he can truthfully tell the world it can go fuck itself with its stipulations and contracts and requisites and commitments and just go and never come back
Ride out to kiss the dying sun and lay down in the fire to be born again every icy morning
Daring all of hell to trail behind
They’ll never catch him