It is not that I don’t love England dearly –
more so now than when I was landlocked
more so than when I was quite near dead
but there is something in a sunset
in palm trees and tangled power lines
can you imagine leaving endless summer
for visible breath and muddied waters
dearest England is my dearest prison
enclosed, chained – it is warm and yet
my summer ended as I left LAX
to work, to adulthood – my dearest desire
will always be just to run


Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s