with destinations
a fixed point on a flexible map
they wash over the streets
like containers of bleach
i sometimes go out looking
for a group of ruffians
to attach like a leech
often failing often walking
just around the corner
back to where everyone seems to have
someone to meet
somewhere to be
this is an apology from the world
to my new, ugly self
and progress is pain
i can feel that in my chest
No comments:
Post a Comment