Tuche & Automaton

Sunday, August 27, 2006




First school road


A bridge, horizontal,
straight,
sturdy across the busy highway.

White lines lead
to grandparents houses,
to hospitals,

An
escape route.

My city has become infested
with incubus men lingering
at my doorway
waiting for me to materialize.

I will raise my voice above theirs,
for now there are only hymns

As effective as prayers
without praise.

This is my exodus.

The road stretches flat
like the bridge.

There are bends and full tree lines
that bulge out of their
Given land.

I want to emerge from this machine,
Loiter in the corn fields,
almost full grown.

Hide,
wait
to become a whole being.

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