there's (was) a monk in Beijing, but he left with suggestive flames and a surfer who drowned during Mavericks pacific ocean games. there's me learning the same sea trade.
there's my baby little brother who cannot answer missile calls and a 40 foot stretch of highway one falls. and there's always someone jumping off the golden gate bridge.
there's free pizza for dinner and there's overdoses in the states. There's Alaska drilling more and more and the fatal shifting of tectonic plates. Japan moved 13 feet closer to me last week.
there's no more potassium iodine to spare and the radiation's duration is unclear. there's a beer festival in Fairfax this afternoon and a book sale in Mill Valley to frequent soon. there's some phone calls to make and letters home to send.
there's chalkboards to paint and umbrellas to buy. there's protestors in Libya and teargas where those have died. There's a museum where violence skirted the door.
There's a boy who makes kombucha and talks about the struggle. There's me smiling with the dishes and my lover working a double. There's poetic aphorisms to remind me of those damp trees that are near and doodles around the house reminding me-- you are here. there's a gaggle of Savannah folks who always say everything will be okay. and i believe them.
Kaley Morlock currently resides in Oklahoma City, where her typewriter overlooks the stucco streets of the art district. After studying philosophy in Illinois, and rambling along the west coast, she returned to the red dirt land to study horticulture and contemplate environmental law school. More of her writings can be found on wehappybuffalo.blogspot.com.