Sunday 31 March 2019

one

like something
left out of
a documentary
i hit the road.
shale shines like
second hand silver
beneath my feet
& with the wind
at my back
there's nothing
but black tar madness
showing me the way.

it's a dusty shuffle,
sometimes clinging
to the earth
for fear that gravity
and memory
will fling me to realms
too sacred for
a waif like me.
birds that are
nameless
call my name,
call me home.