My muscles ache.
Laps around tables,
Stools, a bar.
A screaming baby,
And a mother who
Wishes
She could just run away.
No destination.
Lost in the freedom
Of great lungfuls of air.
Arms waving,
Legs pumping,
Feet slapping hard against the pavement.
Just to get away.
Away
From the endless miles
Walked like an ox in a yoke,
Slowly watching the ground rise
On each side
As my rut grows deeper.
There was a dream once.
Now it is lost
Under the mountain of parking tickets, reciepts,
Unsent love letters, fast food wrappers,
Dirty diapers, and used condoms.
Kleenex, that wait to dry the tears
That never seem to come.
I wish that I could set this place on fire
And watch as the pressed pulp,
Bleached white for your convenience,
Turns black and crumples,
Then grays into ash and floats away.
And somehow, somewhere,
Beneath the molten pain,
There will be a glimmer
That will catch the eye.
A forgotten hope.
An old idea
Made new by the
All consuming purification
Of the heat.
The misery and drudgery
Denatured.
A highway and a pair of high tops.
A way out,
And the desire to leave.
