Moscow to Spokane via Greyhound Bus
"We're all in bondage, man."
He said.
Oncoming headlights
Cast strange shadows
Across his face.
"Bondage to what?"
I asked.
"Habits, man.
Just look around you.
See all those fences?
They're not keeping us out.
They're holding us in."
It was dark.
I didn't see any fences.
"What do you mean?"
I asked.
"All those towers, man.
Work places? No, man.
Steel, concrete...
windows that don't open?
They're prisons, man.
Prisons."
"But not me."
He said.
"I'm no lamb.
I'm a free bird.
Know what I mean?
Free, baby.
Free."
And he turned
and howled at the moon
through the glass.
Evanescent Myopia
I watched
the tendrils
push through the ground,
spreading the earths crust with such strength.
Those tiny glistening strands,
like threads
Like –
titanium needles,
but breakable.
They forced their way through.
So hungry for the sun,
they reached up to touch it,
to take it.
They longed to pull it down,
to cover it,
but they could not.
Determined in their pursuit they
pulled themselves up
by the roots
and began
launching themselves into space.
They soared up through the carbon,
through the clouds –
rockets with long roots,
dirty and dry,
and green tinted windows.
And on further,
to where
blue is no longer blue,
but red-black,
and the job of the stars
is to grab my
attention
and make me forget
it was ever done.
And I have forgotten,
until just now,
or I'd have left years ago.