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