Living without gps Travel up the common femoral artery to the junction of walk and don't walk. Leave latitude for the heart, its sextant lost in the remains of route 66, or plot a solution; I've got my spine I've got my Orange crush . Broken mirrors vivisect the man, all roads lead to Polaris, scattered bearings. Find some other track side noodling in the dark, people losing time, lost being lost between the Crux and nebulas. Steer into the long way home, find where found is hidden in the magnetic resonance, images of small intestine and appendix, the parallax of travel where no one can run to, or from. Richard Merrill is an unrealized poet. As well as an unrealized farmer, architect, Lego artist, and ultracyclist. It took him a while to accept the term; trucker. Lately he has realized he is very much that. He hopes the reader finds some merit in his work.