the time I wasn't walking in Memphis
The next thing you know I am heading in the completely wrong, as in incorrect direction. I've never enjoyed heading toward the sunset, but metaphorically who does? I thought to myself if I had to be landlocked in a state other than Nevada I could see the home of Davy Crockett in the top five. Boom, the thunder cracked the sky and down she poured. You haven't seen rain until you see a deep southern downpour it's like a sadness that consumes you entirely. When I say downpour I am talking about a torrential pounding literally and emotionally, I got a knot in my gut immediately.
It was early evening and these dark clouds compounded the treacherous conditions while also presenting a perfect opportunity to cry silently. I know the west and I knew sign and saw the turnoff. The way that was planned was out, my excuse was the eastern seaboard. I reminisced of the battery, follies, cobblestones, and the cut. We didn't end up walking in Memphis that night because that road I left behind and the intended road was on the right. Instead we got black magic full of the dark spirits, intoxicated, and lost in the middle of the night .
With vodka as saliva these empty streets, early mourning and regret only du Monde helped the senses recalibrate. The blackhole still remains as a permanent void with an Orpheus vibe. I blame the voodoo for the ultraviolets and fascinating stroll that sealed my fate. Hopeless it was time to head west mile by mile consumed with more confusion it took away the strength, it overpowered my heart, my thoughts. These feelings were just like when the enemy stormed the Alamo, they forced themselves over the walls I became a prisoner and Davy Crockett became the Alamo's permanent basement tour guide. That entire drive to the Alamo was navigated through the rear view mirror. To add insult to injury it didn't matter what radio station was playing, everything sounded like depressing melodies played on a Cherokee lyre. We arrived and I said, "Hellooooo San Antonio." This ain't walking in Memphis.
This road is a winding one.
We left the[I headed] west flooded with new loneliness. — Donika Kelly