Poem 33 Revised

New York & London, Next Time

Radio waves and coiling wires,

Airplane tickets, balding tires,
Pack a suitcase, comb that hair
Count the seconds ’till I’m there…
Criss cross maps with yellow lines
Watch the way the world entwines:
Highway heart-lanes, heavy hands
Etch the way to hopeful plans…
Count the inches, measure distance,
Consult the funds, feel young & listless.
Fuck the map! Crushed and weathered;
Consider sprouting shafted feathers.
Not getting anywhere anytime soon,
Refold the map, now crumpled, ruined. 
Be there, right now, with quick closed eyes,
Someday someday; lies, lies, lies….

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