SONG OF THE DAY: Legs

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I have found my best stress response is to walk, preferably where there’s not a lot of human activity but with the detritus of civilization still around. Railroad tracks obviously are great for this, but so are back roads through dying towns. It’d be great to be walking ten miles a day, without all the time constraints of a job, and just scribbling the weird shit that comes into my mind on trains or notecards or tiny doll-sized dollar store composition books. Ideally, I’d even just be walking twenty miles a day, but not counting the miles either, just knowing I walked enough that it was probably that amount, composing scraps of poems in my mind, like a late American Taneda Santoka, or even a new school Vachal Lindsay. I mean, obviously I’d just be Raven Mack, not anybody else, and the fact I think I’d be a reflection of some earlier entity is probably why I’ll still honor my responsibilities of employment and financial obligation, and not walk off after the horizon. But that’s the ideal life. My legs would grow as big as ox, and I’d stick and poke tattoo my favorite poems on them, or maybe just freestyle poems onto my legs in those moments where I felt most attuned to the universal magnetics, slowly stick and poking the words into order. Yeah, that’s the dream right there.