Wine Words Tapped Out On a Summer Evening

For years I felt as if I were like a locomotive.
Bouncing across the country at high speeds
chaos around every corner.
No chance to stop.
A great beast of momentum.

During that time,
the entire time,
I scribbled words into notebooks,
pounded them out on typewriters,
loose pieces of paper
and
later
digital words
raising out of nothing
onto digital screens.

A life lived with a joyful abandon,
once not too uncommon,
that now seems to be being snuffed out.

I have a filing cabinet filled to cartoonish proportions.
An old suitcase that is much the same.
The digital words have scattered more places than I'll ever
be able to track down.

A large lumbering train cannot simply stop.
It must slowly retire itself to graceful gallop.
It has taken me three years to find myself here.
Now,
surrounded by pages,
I try to make some sort of sense out of my past.

Please bear with me dear reader,
as I myself do not know the truth of the story,
nor do I know the goal of this tale.
If there is any message to be conveyed
it is that these things have been done.
That federal officials have been left groaning in the dust
of the wild-eyed
rich with luck and full of hot blood.

That what has happened
can
always happen again.

I don't make a habit of speaking for Lady Luck
but, feeling compelled to do so,
I say that she often favors those who
follow the road map of the heart
without even a thought
of fear.