I drove along the Alaskan Way viaduct below the Seattle skyline—the place I called Boxtown—in my ‘66 Mustang convertible with the top down and the morning sun and sea air. I was free.
Ketchikan had only one main road from end to end. It snaked thirty-three miles through woods, poked and smashed out of the rock, past bars and churches, clinging for its life to the sea.
It’s okay to do what you want.
It’s okay to jump up and down.
It’s okay to pray.
To radiate,
to salivate, to masturbate. It’s okay
to want love.
And freedom too. It’s okay
I vow understanding, like a river catching rain, pouring through my veins. I vow with my lips, your delicious flower, opening its truth. I vow patience, with the growth of our healing night into garden