Prose. Tour, entry 4: Breaking the chains.

Author note:

When Prose. presented the opportunity for me and my dog to go on tour for winter, to find writers and readers with a grassroots, gasoline-fueled literary mission, two words ran across my mind in scrolling neon red letters against a blackboard of subtle space junk: Hell, yes.

To ride along, follow the tour's hashtag above.

__________________________

Breaking the chains.

Arizona.

Prescott, The Birdcage.

Sitting here glazed over and gazing around the bar

thinking about strictures

discipline

sitting here alone

beneath the moose head,

deer head,

antelope head,

even a ram's head

the miles to back home

ending in hard rain

sitting here, sipping the dream

in the desert

watching the night around me break itself down and push

toward business incline

push toward live music

and the singing of old

registers

push toward hope and

drunkenness

and a night of

luck,

defeat,

and prostration

sitting here thinking about

the words

thinking

about being a pimp

for Prose.

an envoy

a mission so pure

for our kind

the words leaking across

the tabletops, bar tops,

desk tops

and the faces of

cell phones

a mission strong and

without fail

the days of

streaming consciousness

creating a night sky

refulgent with stars

shaped

by words.