Running Backwards Through the Market/ Mountain Dew Fat Rolls American Poem Smoke

A Marah Memoir/ Part 3

In my Mom’s car, in the backseat, tired and half-asleep, that’s where I think I first felt the sweet necessary loneliness that I have known ever since. And my need for the drives. For the car and the road and the tightening arms of isolation born up out of both.

Suburban nights are hideously magic, you know. Desperate darkness outside stretching out acr…