Isn’t it ironic when the silence of a pristine Sunday morning is broken by whips and chains and ball gags as you turn the corner on an eerily abandoned Portland street, 

emerging from Bridal Veil Falls

to find rainbows in the mist 

and on Father’s Day, a pride parade interrupts

your road trip transition from rural to urban 

during your road trip adventure. 

Sticking out like the burnt orange Longhorns and green and gold Bears burnished on your native Texan t-shirts, as two jaws drop and hundreds of partners tip their fedoras and snap long black whips on the cool asphalt at the sight of cowboy hats and jeans juxtaposing their place on the sidewalk against the colorful characters meandering down the striped streets. 

Dueling poets write straight 

this crooked picture etching memories one neuron at a time, waiting for the right time to solidify virginal moments in ink stained paper

while clear anamnesis fades over time 

along with animas as social justice ushers in kindness and cool Sunday mornings are a welcome relief amongst varieties of the company we keep. 


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