777 lucky necklace on my collarbone. I like black
snakes, skate shoes, platforms, and a cutthroat
game of horse. I miss layups and foul shots, killing
the three-pointer. I haven't eaten out in eight years.
Every day, I clean my yellow place for a party of one.
I must alternate four and five miles. I like street faith
and trucker hats. I like Eagle smokes, and The Judge
made me weep. I have fourteen old school tattoos
that need retouching. Like all men, I believe in fake
sugar, the weather radar, the lost mail, and the vicious,
adopted dog. I believe that each tree holds the dead
inside. If we listen, they speak to us. I believe that light
lives deep within some eyes, and that countless others
choose leaden vision. I believe that they will someday
be leaving, and the others will be coming. I like twisty
soft serve and Catawba Mountain. For my size, I surprise
everyone in the weight room. I believe in the blink,
the grin, the open-palmed wave, and the thumbs-up,
that intention and silence are divine. I'm terrible
with orders. I roll my eyes at suggestions. My recycling
is half-hearted at best. I like hand-hot, blue blankets,
loose T-shirts, skinny fucks, hard drums, no spoons,
and weird fish. I believe that birds carry messages
on their wings. I like knee socks and long, boy shorts,
and I spend most days in solitude. The names Buddha
and Jesus make me cringe. Laughing and shaking heads,
they live in the mountains, climbing like me, one small
reach and step at a time. Whoever you are, if you hear
me, hugs are over-rated, but I’m sure I’d like to walk
today. Four miles, counterclockwise. At all times,
I’ll be carrying three reachable weapons, just to be
safe.
C.A. MacConnell
P.S. Book Five is coming along. It's just pouring out of me. My hands can barely keep up with my brain, ha. Stay tuned.
