CARGO LOST, CARGO FOUND
I fill the pallet of a new year's sobriety and, when it has been accomplished, make a manifest and strap this pallet with the others on the flatbed of my life. The cargo is secure and weighty; there is ample pressure where the rubber meets the road. I maneuver my rig carefully. I feel assured as I stream with the traffic on the byways. The power and magnitude of my transport prompts in me overconfidence. I fail to realize variation in weather or road conditions can jeopardize my journey. Eighteen wheels make for a poor cantilever when traction is lost and top-heavy wins out. In losing the battle of gravity, inertia and control I realize the past is not a weight I need to haul; all that is necessary is the inventory. I slip the pages into my pocket and walk the rest of the way. I am my only freight.
Medicate with laughter and tears.
Can’t Walk Back
I chase my reading list, lose my place, fall down, can’t find my page; suddenly there is a whole library beyond my grasp. I write as fast as I can and so do my fellows the result is more than I can read in three lifetimes. The glory and pain of freedom is the constriction of time. I claw at the minutes but the days slip quickly out of reach. How can I get the great work poured into my mind while still allowing original thought to flow from me? I ask God if I can be reincarnated with my backlist intact but there is no reply. I know in my heart this life is like hang-gliding on the beach; my shoes and socks are left behind and I fly off over open sea. So if we are friends now that is surely grand, but if you want to be my friend later, just take a walk in my shoes.