We are headed backward.
Toward the lighthouses on the coast,
and that backroom where all of us would
gather and look at the pictures they cut out
and tacked to the wall.
To where the tallest buildings are mainly for
administration and the misuse of drugs that
make it easier to hold thoughts in your head.
I accept no offers that make things simple
and stand only for those that want to earn
the future they wind up with. Although I
guess there’s no avoiding that is there?
The girls sitting out in the grass cut up
their old t-shirts so they can stitch them all
together into a blanket.
A black bird on the ledge to the right of my
window watches them with me, and we
agree it would be best to say goodnight.
Roam
Teleporting Typewriter 