even by the common, after hours of escape. The sidewalk is not mine. I have no memory here. There is not a single face that has a name. Blankness of not knowing, refreshes me; as rain drops spatter night-dark concrete ever blacker, and unfamiliar voices pour their stories like pestilence and poison into my eager ear, a great vomiting clamor of calamities large and small, all that might befall a soul who has not enough; luck, or money, or faith, or will to live without injury or injuring, in a game so badly rigged. Listening then I am both part and apart of all their grief, bad luck, poor choices. Allegiant, this journey churns us in the froth and foam of a new invisible organ, central as the liver, containing all the coarseness of these miles, the fingers yellow and split,
the butts of cigarettes mined for something smoke-able, the rare morsel of food, the screaming mothers, the weeping children, all there residing, immortal窶馬o, but unnaturally long-lived, such is the work of my journey. So that even now those things press close, and 16 years space is nothing.
The journal of the University of Oregon Environmental Studies Program