heavenlystranger

i'll update you, ami.
well here;s a poem. i don't know if it's poetry day and frankly, i don't care.

The Unbearable Loneliness of Anarchy

There are things inside of him
that would make him walk to Omaha
to find a friend.
He is brilliant and bitter
and ready to love,
knocking around in towns
where the roads reach away from him
like parabolas
and never never embrace.

He hasnt been to Omaha
but the name stays inside of him
homely and precious
like a golden parasite.
He will cross mountains to get there.
He will slit the lining of his coat and
stuff it with newspaper.
He will bind his head in rags
and hitch rides with the strange people
who shoot down the roads like comets.
It will be epic, unforgettable
and every day he will throw a notebook
out the door of a car.

His feet will become covered
with scabs and blisters
and he will kiss each one.
He will uncover his cracked toenails
in Omaha.
He will cut holes in his shoes and
show them off.
He will sing songs about the road dust in his knuckles
and someone there will smile
someone there will taste the dirt
and tell him everywhere hes been.
it's by me, h.s.
sorry i haven't been updating so recently. i have been clearing my head. so, are you guys happy?
h.s.