If I can’t, I will
need to hitch
another ride
into the labyrinth.
Dust and sweat
and wooden mile
markers will crowd
the view in. A spun-out
tale to find
the way out.
If I can’t, I will
need to hitch
another ride
into the labyrinth.
Dust and sweat
and wooden mile
markers will crowd
the view in. A spun-out
tale to find
the way out.
They come in all sizes
to unlock doors, lock them
up again. They open
mail boxes, barricade cabinets and diaries
from curious eyes. Chiming
in my loose pocket, they turn
security into a musical instrument
before doubling back as a weapon
on dark, empty streets. They anchor
me to the city. A weight inside,
they keep me
from floating off
the ring around lost
before found.