Wanderlust I

These walls are the distance.

Between rivers and streams
I’d run the riverbed. I’ve
paced corner to corner,
soles barely touching the floor through
my callouses of broken glass

If love could move mountains,
her heart could move the moon through
corridors of promises
a maze without a map and
turns, straight into deadly endings

I’d run the riverbed.

Slipping on stones in the
homeless worlds of happy. We’ve
done this in our minds a
thousand times before,
never falling in the deep

Reciting to ourselves the lines of
words we’ve never heard before:
Counterfeit lies are
nothing but the truth
Which scam should we believe?

Her heart could move the moon.

A hole is all that’s left from
the long forgotten theft, but
she’ll never stop the search for
the priceless piece of gold that
was pried from her so gently

She’s walked every step where
these walls are the distance, or
else outside is a dream. Her
imagination spares her the trouble
of needing to belong

Homeless, the worlds of happy.

Lost, and confused by all the
wavelengths in the spectrum.
Indigo is often forgotten and
possibilities taken for granted, so
here we go again

Crowds of spirits, souls, and sky
longing for the key to get inside, where
the air is cool and
the ground is soft and
nothing desires you for lunch

Of words we’ve never heard before.

Whispers in the breezes
in tongues of foreign ease. By
twisting leaf and branch we become
engulfed in songs of
its simmering solitude

Recoginizing echoes is
impossible in caverns.
Decide for yourself the
patterns in which they come, so
you can’t blame me when you’re wrong

The long forgotten theft.

No one knows who they are, they’re
only empty heads and hands. They
can’t confess to crimes not their own
but still convicted they rise
and condemned they fall


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