colorado.

last night i really had a dream about the hurricane that came over the mountains. i was holding a jig saw puzzle. when the wind finally came into the mountain valley the puzzle flew out of my hands and into the wind, breaking into little pieces. and in an instant landed in my mother's mouth. and she tried to yell into the wind over me.

and colorado what if the hurricane did come? what if the aspens were gone. and what about all of those houses that we lived in? what would happen to them? what about the dog that died and the ashes that we left in the backseat of your toyota? would they float into the air. would the ash get into your eyes? i can barely talk about you colorado. but i can tell you somewhere in colorado there is a dry weezing love of mine. of the basement that smelled like pot and the buddhist flags that hung in your windows. the massive hippy parties that took place in blue school buses, where they cried and danced. wore flowers in their hair and told the children about the government that would and could find them. but its funny of us are not really from you colorado. we are just transplants. as allen ginsberg would say, denver is lonely for its lost, and transplanted. but tonight colorado i am going to remember all of car rides where I had to ask your permission to roll down the windows. and the car sickness i got while smelling your old fish coolers as we rode up the side of a mountain in your old ford explorer.

and we took hot showers in the empty lake house to warm up from the lake that had a black bottom.