it’s not a light story.

i just think before knowing you won’t know that it’s something you don’t want to know
so if you take this road
know i will be running ahead
and i may fall for all my looking back.
turtles all the way down.

i’m like the world, i’m in permanent crisis
but like the world i am vast
i hide serene places, and lonely places full of factories
and deserts populated by those sharing triumph
and defeats and misery and not the means for us all
and by all means let the flowers bloom in the ruins
but worker bees will be needed and the right dance to boot.

this pen writes out the end, my walking stick,
my staff for parting seas on this planet
that’s personal and purely arid.
this spells out the end, this called here and now:
new beginnings
tides summoned
sails set
ends of the earth reached and leaped across.

waiting
waiting for someone to have been waiting.