in pursuit of holy mangos

an uncharted soul will drive you anywhere,

transform your heart to a peacock feather,

fan the flames in your amorphous eyes,

while your mind collapses spontaneously into back flips.

tell me, is oasis one of those truthful lies? 

do we ever learn to walk amidst tidal waves? 

or does this water just continuously tumble through us?

I want to know if a decision breaks me or creates–

if the splinters of me thrive best scattered, among alien lifestyles.

I walk until I shrug,

until my feet become oversaturated in dirt and my hair consumed with tangles,

my heart’s pocket book filled only with gratitude. 

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Pai, Thailand

heart blurred. shoes worn.

I am hanging over the edge of the world, breathing rice paddies and fields of garlic.

the wind tumbles through my pages and I find the ocean in the eyes of an fisherman. 

he is smooth as a river rock;

I lie naked within his heart. 

we share cigarettes until the plastic burns away.

until our skin peels and lands upon our feet. 

In Memoriam to Josephine

I know they say dogs are a human’s best friend but since I was sixteen, my best friend has been my forest green ford explorer, Josephine.

When I got her, she already had decent mileage on her. She also shook a little on the highway and had already suffered a few engine problems since her 2001, production. I never cared. All I cared about was that I had this car who played music, transported my friends, and took me to the beach whenever I wanted.

Over the years, Josephine and I went on even more grand adventures. We trekked all over Florida, from the Everglades to the panhandle. We saw beaches and beach houses. We even got to see New Orleans together.

Josephine knew all my favorite songs. In all of her scattered compartments and consoles, CDs overflowed. Because she only had a standard factory radio, nobody could plug in an aux cord for music. Instead, music was powered by the people in the car. Many of the CDs in Josephine were made by friends and family, often featuring personalized Sharpie cover art.

Sure, there were times her battery died. I’ll never forget sitting on the side of a desolate country road, waiting for the kind people of triple A to arrive (hopefully) before nightfall to replace a popped tire.

I also could never forget in her later years, when her volume dial started working in reverse. I found great amusement in watching visitors trying to turn down the volume, only to be horrified by blaring music.

Towards the end of her years, her side window had a stylish adornment of duct tape holding it in place. The turn signal began malfunctioning in such a way that the driver would have to manually flip the switch up and down in order to activate the blinkers.

It was then that Josephine’s grandparents decided it was her time for used car heaven.

Not only did my friends and I have a send-off party for her. We mourned her loss for our final two months of college. To this day, we think back on the way she felt so safe, how she carried such deep, liberating laughter. We joyfully sigh to each other, “Rest in peace.”