19 April 2019
I don’t write poems about being lost at sea, and I don’t write poems about Paris, but I’ve always thought, if I ever make it to Europe, I’d go by boat, which is completely unpractical.
But it speaks to something in me. The need for the nostalgic and some nod to the past. Some poetic edge for adventure. Some sense of isolation and movement I’ve never found before on water.
One of my friends wants to move to New Orleans, and last night I met a guy from Michigan who’s out here to work in Yellowstone. Two friends recently moved back to California. And another is globetrotting for a film.
I am perfectly content here in Bozeman, in wait for summer and a single road trip through the middle of the country. Driving myself through my writing or writing myself through a drive. I’ve never known which way to see it.