10”x12”, limited edition of 100. Letter pressed, original poem illustrated by Chris Payne.

This poem is special to me. Breezewood, Pennsylvania is a highway town near an abandoned turnpike tunnel—the sort of place where love and sorrow expand to fill the empty space. Maybe you know it. In 2019 I was lucky enough to travel around quite a bit, and because most roads in Pennsylvania eventually go through Breezewood, I found myself there a number of times..In general, my memory is shamefully spotty, but I remember everything about that place: the muggy air, the neon signs, the sound of semi trucks purring through the night. The fried macaroni and cheese at Sheetz, my cramped legs in the passenger seat. It stayed with me, when little else did.