blue mt, oct/24

as i glide through the burning light of a cold
sunrise dappled 'cross the brilliant white aspens,
old brakes whistle on steel as I stop for a
coffee cup that someone had chucked out their window,
and a white claw can, crumpled among wet leaves
(Leave the coors, as they remind you of ed abbey).

thoughts of mom find my mind and I wonder if
morning scents of coffee, cigarettes and weed never
left her soul and instead just migrated to
me and fat grey cats and dollar-fifty pool games,
the kind nobody wins because lydia
ordered shots and we got drunk on well-tequila.

but the wash-boarded lumber road rattles out
cold depression from my body, leaving it on
ragged exhales of breath from my lungs that form
clouds of autumn vapor wafting up to tears that
dry as quickly as desert monsoons, carving
canyons through us all until they reach the ocean.