A NYC transplant...with an affinity for rental vehicles & their unlimited miles, who loves to come home...and drive endless eastside streets in the wee hours [[especially on the frozen, forlorn streets of winter dead-when to the city I love, I may commit to the vagaries of imagination rather than watching thy back)
A sack of corn & blackseed for my old pheasant spots rabbits , cans of wet food for strays & alley deziens...maybe a beer, certainly a beer between legs.
Past the forlorn hospital I was born, the streets...former lives were lived...past dive watering holes & houses of old acquaintances....tempted to stop; oh yes! But tempered by the complications of fraternity...because what I'm living at the moment is a dream & a poem...is golden revelry!
Can heal a soul baby.
Remember that old Doors lyric?
"tell me where your freedom lies,
the streets are fields that never die"
For Detroit, a love deep and abiding.

my friends and family think I'm nutz...but whatta they know!