Away from everything,
tonight, I take my chances
down the unmarked winding
paths that lead to nowhere.
I cannot go back
to that endless effort draining
track that takes from us our time,
and eats our fear.
The trees all dance in long thin dresses
swaying with the music not the wind.
The birds are clips in their messy hair
and I alone am standing there,
lost in the woods like a child.
The highest branches click
against the stars,
the ancient emergence of light
torn through infinity.
Here between them
I can see almost everything,
and with their leaves crushed,
and spread against my gums
I can behold even more.
Higher than the world before,
it feels like I have found a place
to run to.
Teleporting Typewriter 