Riding Motorcycles With God in a Desert

What about the awe and humble questioning?
The rambling drives across the mountains of America.
Should we forget those?
Should we forget the desires that challenge our minds,
or the ache
and sincere quality of our own empathy? 
Swept away.  Out to sea.  Dust.
I'm ill.  Of the dull quivering. 
the selfish throb of voices spilling inarticulate thoughts.
The shy pleading. 
The timid groping and shrieking emptiness of masturbation.
Aren't you thirsty though
my love?
For your deeper succulent self.
For your knotted heart and lungs to unfurl themselves.
Clawing North.
Skyward. 
Abandoning the coughing, sputtering, trivialness,
the fat dream of the dead.     Fuck you. 
So long. 
WE are remembering our Godness now.
WE are building cabins on the edges of mountains
and licking the morning's juice from the necks of horses.
Hello my favorite part of everything.
Hello deadly loving muchness.
Kind friend.
Ambitious whisperer.
Wakeful morning preacher.
Rising. Speaking. Proclaiming. 






Andrew Tipton