Avoiding the mass,
afflicted by crowds,
isolate and internal
I circle the beloved,
an orbiting satellite
without friction or gravity
in the silence of space,
surrounded by stars
yearning for home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

6 Responses

  1. Ah sat-at-a-lite
    hafta figger out
    da firs tree lines a dis pome
    once ah kin do dat
    ah will be home

    [even if I’m missing a ‘foot’]

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *