Concrete mounted on a particular front,
Nor mountain can move formed construct,
But I have a plan: I am going affront.
If I don’t get out, I’m truly fucked.
I can’t live; as birds migrate here,
Their wings compass, minute gaze so vast,
A bird I call; no wings beckon near,
Give me a set of wings so fast,
Away from sun and water I prefer,
They’ll call me neurotic; am so queer,
These widened iris’ right and left refer,
Not a blink, not a sound, nor a peer,
Dance my ears to footsteps this crude,
Yet so feared and now I am this lone,
Not even through the others how rude,
Everything’s gone. I am no longer me,
I am out. Now this stage thus breathes,
Innocent me, mad me, as best I glee,
Woods. Birds. Nothing in the eaves,
Damn, if only a bit of light to guide
To rest myself by night for cool watch.
My electric mind zaps at all who bide
Attention to one laughing this much:
No one following. Ha! None here? Ha!
The boat: there it is. Now, we flee!
It seemed a mirage at first comme ça;
A simple boat, but, what? How silly!
I have no headlights. No torch. Damn.
Let me drive by moon’s grace then;
I don’t care where I go or how I do;
So long as I escape. Away from ram.

Category:
Life, Mysterious, Poetry, Works
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