Memphis, in the day

2. The Lorraine Motel

Now The National Civil Rights Museum, the place where Martin Luther King was assassinated. And a museum to cry in. Silence, fierceness, battleground of fear and of love.

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Times two in Memphis

1. Beale Street

Policed Memphis blues B.B. king shopping beer to go in 20oz packages shapes colours neon frenzy emerging from the beat. The old man dances in the door way the fat woman sings belting her rhythm to my feet.

Through coloured lights and sweat and eyes. A Cinderella carriage at the ready as are the bats the butts the beat the shoe the hand the bottle the grind the three blocks of allowance to experience three blocks of blues of the Memphis night. And around a disturbing quietude emptiness abandonment awaiting a relic. desertion. the Mississippi the river where unattended children will get an espresso and a free kitten.

Lunch, Nashville

Mumma Day. The Marilynd’s singing patsy cline driving by superblueman acrobatics and women drinking on pedal bike trolleys. Country music hall of fame we’ll meet you at the Grand Ole Opry, but instead we walk and walk and walk and lose each other in the heat and call and call from the frisky frog and happenstance see the car with the black cargo box top drive by and run to catch up. Reunified to drive on to Memphis.

Blue, to Asheville…

A live ride in front, wonder women, king midget. Gotta go past gotta laugh gotta admire awesomeness.

The music hits you whistling through the road. It’s a beautiful long ride. And they play, always. Dixie down.

The houses are dug in, waiting in a row to walk towards home a few feet away. Barn after barn, board after board, grey alive watching.

Evening in Asheville. White duck fish taco the hatchery river arts railroad walk brew pub food trucks bean bag toss cob holler hemp ale. Asheville and Kerensa. I love Kerensa.

Morning to pick up lost dog bowls to see red doors. Mumma’s Day. Breakfast at the Green Sage. Two dogs and old friends who have seen the real the bad the ugly under the powers roof. morning sun comes over the corner buttermilk biscuits mushroom gravy root hash overeasy. Today it’s on to Memphis.

Blue Ridge Parkway

Staunton to Asheville. Mandolin. Hardy ground walking on down the line paint a little crab of blues. Strum. A baby in the tree mama bear behind wAit for me

And open the windows roll with it dig in on the steep slope.

Wild rain nervous dog loud light scents of the night tenting it. Crabtree falls tangled up in blue.

Teatown. Tea room. A place not to stop or stop or go or not. The campground lady say “We don’ go there no we don’t”..

Winding roads trees blooming low budding high back road high ridge of mountain time animals grazing in the valleys ravens vultures soaring off the breeze you can’t meet the past ahead.

Virginia bbq and with Dylan on we go.

Gettysburg, PA

First, breakfast?

Second…

Fences, points, grass, history, ghosts. Fresh air, thoughts, flowers, death.

The battlefield, on horse. Maverick is my name. i am dappled white and brown. And still Crimetown plays on… a tough fucking crew.

Frenchtown, PA

5.11.18


Kristin. I’m here today.

In a car, next to a dog.

Traveling. Flowered overalls, new wheels, son, spouse, water, stories.

Crimetown on the pod. Casting its tale through the car. Buddy back in the 80’s. Providence.

A visit to a friend the night before. Collections of a town on display. Frenchtown. A shovel a bone a bead a bottle a spike a bird a button a bolt a shell a spring a brace a cone a washer a rock a town.

On our way to Santa Fe.

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