Looking for a place,
a place to hide
a place to revive
where strong words
are not reviled,
where open eyes
are not swollen shut,
where we really are
the image of ourselves
we sell to our children
like desperate used car
salesmen.
Looking for a place
a place to hide
a place that is more
than escape,
more than existing
than just out of spite,
more than the afterbirth
of a world politicians
and preachers and
blind optimists say
was simply
never meant to be.
Looking for a place,
but sometimes
it's just not easy.
There's no Home
for me to go to
though I dream of one.
Every place my feet
have carried me disappears
the moment my foot moves forward
and I am in the world
looking back,
seeing nothing,
remembering everything,
filled to the gills
with the memories of things
most people think
isn't worth the space.
Looking for a place
knowing it's ahead of me
knowing the map etched
in the memories
of things behind me
knowing I may not know
when I find it
because all the signs
have been worn away
destroyed by cement mixers,
buried under rusted machines,
erased by digitalized visions
of megalomaniacs
and mad men
with their finger on the button
and their boot heals
on each of our throats.