Friday, July 10, 2020

12,962. WHEN I FINALLY

WHEN I FINALLY
When I finally leave my hometown,
I'm going to a far cabin at the top of a
hill. With a view, of some water, and 
a small, ruined mill. It can be quiet
there, for as long as it wants. I'll pick 
clover while looking for you.
-
Remnants and leftovers; overflows and
trickling streams.  The same deer I saw
yesterday will be back tomorrow. My
dirt path leads to my driveway; my few 
cars, sullenly parked, in case of another
escape. From what? From meaning, and
from intention too. The whole world's 
grown sick, and that's what I'll do, if I
stay around; few will note the
absence, just as I will note the thrill.

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