my home is about 83 miles from where i am - i used to wonder if i walked those miles backwards could i take time with me - one mile after another undoing each year i fucked up each year on the wrong medication each year in the wrong city with the wrong guy allergic to a good cat. i am good at going backwards - and i know the way without a compass - the telephone poles with thick bubbles of tar i stuck my fingernails in - the pizza place with that jukebox playing outdated hits - the salad dressing that stunk like the boy's locker room - dripping armpits- i am not surprised by bridges - there are many - i run my hand on the rail - i look at the cracks beneath my feet - remembering my fear of falling - mile after mile the smell of the city leaves and low tide welcomes me to the bay - over my shoulder i see the floating dock buoys dune reeds waving to me oh how much time i have taken