for my brother.
the sky was the brightest
blue I'd ever seen;
crisp, cool, and lonely.
The mountains provided a
semi-permeable edge
one went "into" or "through"
like madness.
My brother visited once, and we walked
miles over the foothills looking for
the film version of Tortilla Flat.
We found it near the University,
and rewarded ourselves
with cheap beer and exhaustion.
Spencer Tracy was
brilliant. So was the lovely
Hedy Lamarr. Stepping outside
after the film, I realized
movies are liars, John Steinbeck
is the truth, and my brother
would leave soon. The sky,
as always, was threatening
with its loneliness.
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