the moon pulled the sierras never felt so orange. a distinct feeling of awakens at a 1/4 past forever. the then and when was once. the road, beaten down and disguised as a grey, looks as if snow from ahead. in mirrors and collapsed. the midwest, the middle west is fast asleep as should i. still pounding. 90 miles an hour, "so tough" and i pulled over to finish the horah. a mile off the interstate to share the rising with the beginning of another night, so dark and snow capped maybe. id sit upon the hood of my truck, back pressed against glass in the shiver of the cooling coming down off the mountains, galloping over the foothills. lindsay california and lake success, the ever edged western grace. jack called it a piece of tea and tonight it was just that. all glowing a brownish orange, like the color of ever harvest moon you've ever seen. big encompassed by the tips of the mountains. up thru past shadowed and behind strung out slivers of thickly thick clouds, the chunk rose abruptly and my eyes felt it more than ever. a heavy step to carry the weight of simple natural. the mornings not far behind and I'm an here already. old men in suspenders, with canes and broken wings. a sling defined a crack, a fracture, a fall. who was there and who will be.