A. whisked me & E. into her rusty-rumble jalopy and we took off for Wyoming to buy fireworks – it was July the third, and ya
can't purchase fireworks in Denver so we drove north toward the stateline with the windows down, dusk fell purple in the
distance and the further north we got, the cleaner the air smelled – the scent of earth and scrub fields after a rain, metallic –
the temperature dropped and the flat western earth gave way to strange hills and rock formations, ancient holylands of tribes
long extinguished, and shadows of ghost towns down backroads – I saw buffalo gallop in far fields – I didn't stay long in the
firework warehouse, it made me nervous, I made my purchase quick and ran outside to sit propped against the car because
America was there, in all that lonesome space, not in the crowds of people waiting to blow shit up – I took secret sips from my
bottle of bourbon and breathed in the graveldust and wheat-sweet, heard crickets play banjos & fiddles in the tall grass, watched
the dark come down – when E. and A. came out, they found me chasing after a train that blew around the rocks and hills, E.
had to shout after me to come back – Didn't I tell you? I crave constant motion, even though I was already traveling I had the
urge to keep going; I heard that train whistle from miles away & it called me – I went back to them, though – we drove south
and I looked east and saw, past the hills, the fields, the holyancient world of Wyoming eve, heat lightning flashing on the
horizon, purple, red, blue, and back to purple, a purple like steel, or a bruise – and I saw God, not a face, nor a figure, just God –
not a He, nor a She, just God, the Universe, the great eye of everything.