I have been recording a lot of music lately. Check it out here.

I imagine myself staying on the farm for a few weeks, maybe a few months. I see myself sitting at the desk in my late great grandmother's house plugging away on the writing machine. I would like to have a dog and go pheasant hunting. Pal around in the woods and wait for the right moment. Then I would take a stroll around the farm and look at where I may have belonged if my mother never escaped. Would I fit in now? Well surely not. But it is a part of who I am. So the farm fits in me.

My grandfather will die this year, I can just feel it. Over the last few years he has been winding down his livestock and corn planting. Now, he can no longer work in his fields. And when he does pass, I have a feeling that I will not really understand that he is gone.

I haven't given myself a lot of time to contemplate about my being in DC. Besides the barrage of usual questions from strangers and potential new friends, I haven't told myself how I feel.

Sam is talking in his sleep right now.

I am still thinking about the morning dew on the grass in Reevesville, SC.

__________________

Unnatural reverb is your friend
because you have no home
no longer a place to own and to be owned.
Only the scuff marks that you left behind
on the walls of your old room
from when your bed kissed the wall
while making love.

So relinquish the memories,
or at least the thoughts of a past livelihood
and relinquish the sunlight
that would pour in through the windows
and land on your face.

Say goodbye to the old landlord upstairs
who will eventually die upstairs.
And the room with the radiation heater
that kept me warm in my coldest moments,
when the presence of another body left my bed
never to return.

And that was it.

Every time is the same.
Boxes with names.
A place for everything,
and everything in its place.

The orange chairs, and orange cat
the plants hanging from the ceiling in the kitchen,
with the sunlight coming in from overhead.
Climbing the ladder to the roof,
only to realize that you now had a second backyard.

Shelves with books, records and trophies from childhood
for kicking a soccer ball around nearly twenty years ago.

I wish I could feel that happy forever.
Forever knowing that I would always be that happy.