my partner narrator.
Wine.
Speaking.
Verses.
Listen.
Kerouac has
all interpretation and meditations leaning toward more. More exploration, more scenes, more looking around and acknowledging Now. Nothing behind, all ahead and in front of me asking to be experienced. What am I doing here, accepting any order, any regulatory, any institution. More, on that Road, the music, lights, cars, families traveling in winter or whenever. Sitting on unfamiliar boards, me…
Ready
to be in the Road.
Leftovers and red…
Wine never needs to frame complicated. Wine should never direct prolix. She’s inviting, approachable, narrative and affectionate. What’s surrounded by curved glass reads a presence, a prophetic face and storm of versifying lines.
After a day, working, wine waits, debates her approach to me, my life and day and immediate room. The room, now, connotative in resonance, assurance, a perceptive seat. I’m at a table with her, being instructed, listening,eating leftovers and coaching me on Now, this doesn’t have to be layered or codified, and sort of sophisticated set.
Haven’t touched this glass. But the visual and nearness has me. Inward recite, and known night, thrown toward a lone vinified light.
9/19/18
Wine reminds me
that there are certain moments just for me. That I don’t have to share. Life is mine, all of it, and it’s cruelly curt. It flies by with no minding and I can either observe or fly with it. Wine sings, again.
#professormikey, thinking…..
Wine telling me
that tomorrow morning I will wake early.
This is my glass last.
There will be several pages propelled before kids and wife wake.
First tilt of the little plastic, more impassioned harmony than night prior. I’m with the wine, multiplied ways over, manuscript coupled and unmuzzled. No stop or pause or lull in its voice, step, song.
Scribbling like the Hatter mad, or Jack on the Road with Dean. Me tasting wine through valleys with one of my vino brothers…thinking, now. On this floor, all these notes, another still shot… 
Convinced. Ever, forever, and never a never, with wine. She reads me and sees my eve to more ease. Leaving pleased…
On my break,
time self intake.
A self-take, break from all
negative wakes.
Some random Cabernet
I bought off a winemaker based in Livermore. Might be my only glass, being so tired from yesterday’s event and all the speaking today. Just swore to self that this sitting would be the one that does something. What. What? I ask the Cab. I provoke one sip and it doesn’t answer. So I’m done for the night. Clocking out. Not sure I deserve to.
