Bus rides, if you can avoid carsickness, can be a breeding ground for great ideas. You watch the sky turn dark (but your brain can’t seem to recall exactly how it suddenly became nighttime). You sit next to unusual folks who both snore and ignore you. You stop at a Roy Rogers somewhere in Connecticut.

This is why a notebook is essential. Of course, if you find yourself sans paper, go for the tech route (see below). I’m going to finish this poem [hopefully] next week. But for now, I just want you to see how the magic happens, if you could call it that.

“I probably wouldn’t walk a thousand miles, but id drive them, to occupy the space of your heart like you occupy wall street, boston, miami. Throwing politics and promises to the stars. Y”

“Your skin reflecting the billion year old glow. Heart beating so fast it feels slow”

On-the-spot poem in honor of long bus rides and making a minor reference to Antigonish (1899):

As I was sitting on the bus,
I met a girl who wouldn’t shush

so I threw her phone out the window.

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