you’ve always been my home

.I stopped on a side-road outside Santa Rosa to eat tacos.
.There was a sale on RedBull which is all I drank.
.It was after a weekend making love with a pot grower on a secret coast hidden by the North trees.
.We ate oysters and he took me to a place with the caves and cliff-crag clearings where I could lay naked in the grass in the sun.
.I tucked wildflowers in my hair.
I had to rearrange my living so I pulled off the Avenue into a little womb space where the pine needles lay to ensure no sound.
.I took everything out of the car and put it on the ground.
.Now, to clear out and remake my little house.
.When you live in your car and your home is the road there’s never any place you’ve got to go.
.There was a stretch of land on the Sonoma coast where the ancients used to talk in rock-tree language, clean as wave spray.
.I ran the 1 up and down.
.I was running from nothing, nothing to run to.
.Just the pure relationship between movement and the ground.
.I listened to the native speak.
.Oh land.  You’ve always been my home

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