pêche rêvers

11:07pm pacific daylight time
eating romain lettuce and asparagus smothered in honey mustard dressing
saving the tops for last because i don't really like them,
and in the end, eating them anyway, because they're good for you so mother says
then followed by chamomile tea, wheat Mattzas with cheese, and homebaked tarts with fresh berries and peach

tonight I'm not stoned or drunk or under any influence other than my own chattering thoughts
I think about Ginsberg and the Ignus
and then Dailey and dear Michael flying down the east coast like a lightning bolt behind the wheel of a semi-reliable dark green Monte Carlo, the back seat piled high with empty wine bottles
screaming at the top of their lungs heads out the window, lyrics of Cash, or Dylan's or the New York Dolls slipping off their tongues through purple lips
cursing about Atlanta and remembering Savanah with storybook passion
pooling the end of their change for one last wine taste
stumbling around vineyards offending the torists
searching for true sweet elusive Georgia peaches


I remember the monotonous cartoon backdrop desert of highway 10 through Texas
cactus after cactus and the unbelievable amount of barren orchards, each hand painted sign reading "Fresh Peaches"
wishing they were in season
and tasting again the fuzzy skinned, South Carolinian treasure of nature the boys finally discovered and stowed away for me, a juicy little treat to share back in Jersey