Hit the road, son

Hit the road, son

So I’m still at the farm. This is my third full week! I can’t believe I’ve lasted this long. When I’m not shoveling wet shit or slate or wet straw mixed in mud and shit, or turning the ground around fruit trees to mulch them, or doing any other number of activities around the farm, I am either trying to recover from the back breaking work, or working on a couple of writing projects.


  1. I’m developing a novella that I want to write this year. Instead of just diving into the writing as I usually do, I’m developing the story and the characters before I start writing the text. It’s so much damn work. Why do I do this? I don’t rightly know. Except when the book is done and I’m holding it in my hands, and reading from it in public, it’s really gratifying. Nothing like it. (I won’t share any of this book with you until I have at least a first draft done, so don’t ask. Just keep reading my blog, and you’ll be the first one to know about it when it comes out.)
  2. My other project is I’m writing 20 prose and verse poems. I try to have a working / shareable draft every few days. Right now I have three rough drafts. Once I get 20 acceptable rough drafts ready, I will print them out, and rewrite them about a thousand time each before publication. These poems will become a chapbook that will be available hopefully by the end of this year.


Here’s what I’ve been working on the last couple of days. Again, keep in mind this is a work in progress, and the final draft will probably be very different.


So I was sitting there on a park bench
downtown Albuquerque, minding
my own business when out of nowhere,
this old man sat next to me
and started talking uninvited:

Just drive, son, what else you gonna do?
Don’t fear, son, just plain silly, I tell you.
What you gotta lose by hitting that pavement
and grabbing them wheels like the horns
of a mean ol’ bull you’re ridding to El Paso?
And just go, you know, just go down the road
down that way, or any other way. Who cares
which way you go really, as long as you go.


Who are you, and what do you want?

Son, your fears are stupid I tell you,
I know, I’ve been there, and you ain’t got nothing
to gain by sitting here and being afraid.
I’m telling you: Just drive, and be thankful
for them fears of yours, they’ll keep you alive
but they’ll also grind you up and stuff you
in the corner of the room all trembling
and looking like a god damned idiot, son.

I resent that.

They’ll paralyze you worse than a possum
with a flash light pointing in his eyes
at midnight about to dive in the dumpster,
if you ain’t careful. Get yourself together,
son. It’s time to take that road, that never
never ending winding black ribbon that never
ends and never should and might do, that is
if you ever get yourself to the ocean, son.

It’s the wind that does it to me, in the middle of the desert.

The wind? The wind, son? That’s your problem?
Your fear? Embrace the wind with your mind,
son, what’s a little wind? The wind, if anything
you can depend on for sure is that it will always
blow over, and before you know it, it will be still
like a languishing caress of a long forgotten kiss.
The wind is a push over, if you play it right
it will transport you wherever you want to go.


I don’t know, sir. It’s really scary, I can barely
breathe sometime.
My knuckles turn white
from holding that steering wheel
so tight.

Grow some balls, son. What I’m trying to tell
you, is get your god damned act together,
get your ass in that damn truck of yours
and hit the gas pedal like a lead pipe
that can’t get up no more cause it’s got a hangover
worse than the one you had this morning,
and speed down that highway in your
little machine till you run out of gas, and not a second before.

Yes, sir.

Know what I mean, son? And if you make it
to the other side, then either stay there, or hell
go somewhere else, or come back this way.
The important thing here, is to put your foot down
on that pedal, to hold that steering wheel
down the length of that road, and to keep driving
because sometime driving is the only thing
you can do, it’s the only thing that will save you.

Isn’t that like running away?


Oh no, that’s not running away, that’s going
somewhere to get your thoughts wrapped around
your mind and through your heart, so that you
can think straight, son. And by thinking straight,
I mean thinking around and through and along side
everything you hate and everything you love
making it all work together like a well oiled machine.
So, son, get your fat ass in that coach of yours, and drive.

Yes, sir.



BUY MY BOOKS!!!! And then REVIEW THEM. Thank you. You rock. Reviews don’t have to be complicated. Two or three sentences will do. Just be honest and tell me what you think, how the book made you feel, if a story or a poem touched you in a special way, especially if it was an indecent way. I’d love to hear about that!! Thank you.





  1. Merci!

  2. Oui, j’aime bien comment ca demarre. Ca va etre un bon poem c’est sur.

  3. Thanks!

  4. Nice stuff, Francois. I enjoyed reading this.

  5. Merci! Thanks for reading!

  6. J’aime bien ce poème, surtout la première partie avant la première photo.

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