There are many places I wish to be,
but foremost of these is further,
further down this road.
Further down my many roads,
not being here, stationary,
with the capacity to learn lacking will.
Desires to rise, stifled by ordinary life.
The rains of every day pour on my limbs,
rooting them to the spot I'm in.
This tree is in the wrong state.
It doesn't move.
No forward motion. No fruit.