An Annapolis cafe,
Blue coffee and 1994 cigarettes.
Big Sur is waiting.
A white van, black hands, and Shannon cries,
Sasha knows why.
My beard on the police,
Angie cheats, lesbians smile,
Motorcycles through Monterey.
Josh eclipses the moon,
And I walk on the ocean.

Often in my dreams I have seen the events of my life which had yet to unfold.  Moments captured in time, that when realized, fit neatly into what was once fanciful exploits of slumber.  Looking back on those moments I cannot recall one that shown me as a writer.  I do believe it is time to cease this silliness of trying to write, and instead start sleeping with my pen.

--Chadmo