Thursday, January 19, 2006

the origins in your past of what you had become
were never in any of the places I had not been to
secondary roads we took to escape not to find

no possibility whatever you said that the uniform
green leaves of summer would start to turn into
autumnal colours of an action to stay in one
place: this the only possibility which still

exists, a real continuity, endless possibilities
homes never to be honoured because, now recognised
and congealed into fact: your free hand touched the animal despite

Baxter Black's advice
this not a beast drawn at random
but who you are now: a trip which
wasn't planned and which we didn't
apparently fall into: Eastern North and deep

South alike
you were made
homeless, forced out at gunpoint
knowing already eight seconds is all you've

you can hide
but you can't keep on running

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