I let the wheels whirr randomly and the motor hum for what seemed like days
forlorn days, tangled with the needed process, headed north before the horizon gleamed
Each moment chiseled away the lack of refinements sedimented upon my shoulders
I was thankful for the chance to step out one more time before it took me away
Highways and interstates moved to outlets and main arteries to side streets and distractions
the open ground splayed out became dense shops and ramshackled remnants
In the places where hand-made signs were misspelled and no one corrected them
where the neon of pink meant safety for customers and warnings for those enforcing protection
I waited, expectantly for the oncoming, the rush of inspiration laced with reality
my pen in an out of practice hand, the paper yellowed from laying about untouched
This was my town, yet I have never lived within its urban cloister
It could have been, it should have been but instead of seeing truth in my own home
I sought mechanised escape within the comfort of a meandering but directed drive
In the decay before me, urbanised, crumbling, I didn’t see the buildings
it was the faces, those scarred and broken faces, sitting on cracked concrete
The hustle of traffic slowed almost to an in-stir crawl seemed to reflect this reality
My heart understands that type of prison, not necessarily one of chance but one of choice
A hot muggy mentality that seems to evaporate my soul with its sweaty status
sitting in the closed windowed car, staring at community foreign to my day-to-day
but transcendent in its beauty because of what was spoken into it…
reclamation in the midst of abandonment, hope on the face of suffrage
10:51 am
8 September 2010
