Foot Travels … in
Search of the Bicentennial
before the storm passeth
terrifying winds shall roam across the
the forests shall be uprooted, and the
towns and villages
shall know hunger and darkness, the
shall ravage the coastlines as will
the mountains unleash
sudden rockslides to thwart the motorcar
and foot traveler
i have left my native homeland, and
fled from the seasons. i have torn from my eyes the sight of beautiful
women, and stopped my ears with wax to deafen the sounds of music.
i have ceased to speak, and my face appears in the candlelight
as chalk. Though my lungs
have held each year as a women’s breast,
soft and yielding in the mid-afternoon’s sun, my thighs have
opened, bursting at the orgasmic
release of dawn, naked and subtle and
so very alive! My legs have ached from loneliness, my soles bled
from the hundreds of miles taken in circles. i am weak, and
my strength is the thunderstorm of the moment. i am weary, yet
my vigorousness stalks the idle hours as would a sparrow hawk her prey.
i am alone, and so join hands with the millions.
We are all foot travelers.