Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Rhythm of the Road

Just load me into the car and send me off to the grocery store and the ideas come flooding in. Don't drive me there--I fall asleep when someone else is at the wheel. Don't ride shotgun --I'll talk to you. Just send me off alone and my ever fertile (fevered?) subconscious will swing into action. A month after my mother's death, speeding down MoPac Expressway gave me the seminal line for a sonnet about our relationship.

Of course, I have to pull over to record my clever ideas before they dissipate into highway miasma. Driveways, parking lots, rest stops--they're all fair game. In the city, I pray for stoplights or stop signs. (Please don't honk.) If I don't have a tablet, I'll use my the deposit slips in my checkbook (what else are they good for?) or the palm of my hand.

I think it's something about being alone with the rhythm of the road. Hey--is that a good line or what!

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