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The sunrise woos me to wake up just as my beloved woos me to continue dreaming into day while she rides the train of love to endure her day of work, wooing me silently every breathing moment of the workday she suffers through, every twinge of her torn meniscus continuing to hobble her best intentions to run after me in triumph. What else can I tell you about my bedazzled beloved one? She inhibits her nimblest features which nonetheless radiate from her as from a goddess seated above Athens. Her tongue, usually hidden, can speak like rose petals in spring and acrobatically navigate two mother tongues, the sunrise and the sunset, while wooing me continuously.

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The sky at first glance today was like a cave painting from a paleolithic morning and I felt my sleep had been cut short by its music clinging to my heartbeat till I woke and went outside to fathom with my seven senses the dimensions of the day. I couldn't get away from the intensity of that sky even though for a moment I tried and thought about returning to my bed to fall back to the sleep of my distant tribal ancestors clinging to their campfires as the flames cling to the wood and as I cling to you.

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The generous sky spreads out a table of righteousness before me in the presence of my enemies and friends. The latter thankfully are far more numerous, I wager, and I hope to make friends of the former by the day's end. But for now, I stand in the brisk air of early morning in Spokane and accept that I am a mere whisp of the breeze stirring the leaves of mid-spring on its way to summer and autumn and on to winter, gliding over the Selkirks, up into Canada where my cup can't help but run over.

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Whiskeytown Excuse me while I break my own heart tonight dancing with the women at the bar, waiting to derail, too drunk to dream. Take your guns to town, Captain Smith, the rain won’t help you when it’s over, pawn shop ain’t no place for a wedding ring. Somebody remembers the rose, black arrow, bleeding heart. 16 days, yesterday’s news, reasons to lie, don’t wanna know why.

X Your phone’s off the hook but you’re not, Los Angeles. I’m coming over, riding with Mary. In this house that I call home, we’re desperate, we’re having much more fun under the big black sun. I see red, painting the town blue. What’s wrong with me? I’ll stand up for you, drawn in the dark Alphabetland.

Neil Young Cinnamon girl, cowgirl in the sand, the old laughing lady, the loner, the emporer of Wyoming — I’ve been waiting for you. After the gold rush a man needs a maid — old man out on the weekend down by the river, southern man lookin’ for a love. Everybody knows this is nowhere. Powderfinger tell me why only love can break your heart. Are you ready for the country heart of gold? The needle and the damage done? My my, hey hey (out of the blue) harvest moon, I believe in you.

[E] Zolita 20 questions for the both of us: Somebody I f*cked once? Small town scandal? All girls go to heaven? Fight like a girl, hurt me harder, drug me now, drag me to hell, evil angel. Shut up and cry, come home with me, ruin my life — I f*cking love you.

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* sequel to yesterday’s photo and poem, for paid subscribers everyone

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit jopomojo.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit jopomojo.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit jopomojo.substack.com/subscribe

Randy Newman (The Girls In My Life, Pt. 1) Sail away, Suzanne. I love L.A., naked man. I think it’s going to rain today. It’s money that matters, old man. Little criminals in Germany before the war — Sigmund Freud’s impersonation of Albert Einstein in America. You can leave your hat on, Linda. You’ve got a friend in me, Marie.

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Kansas Dust in the wind, how my soul cries out for you. Don’t open your eyes, lonely wind. Carry on wayward son, nobody’s home. Stay out of trouble — Angels have fallen. Play the game tonight, the pilgrimage down the road, the devil game. Fight fire with fire — Don’t take your love away.

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I once had a mother named Mom Who had a secret identity in Guam, She used to take trips To the store to get chips And come home with a nuclear bomb.

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