when I was younger I would pick a direction and walk
until after a few hours I was lost somewhere new
cruching across the crabgrass everywhere new looked
everywhere old and the same in the suburbs
I would often follow cracks in cement winding streets
or slip through small wooded parks with rusting swings
and clusters of silent trees
or step over flowered fences tramping through front yards
always the eyes would watch
yet there were no fences
nothing to bar my path a few stones a welcome mat
the trash would be rotting on tuesdays and thursdays
there were never enough hours to escape the county
it just stretched on and on with cars following
cars being shuffled along a string forward and back
eventually I would start back attempting a different path
looking all the same and new and never strange back to my room
and my home looking never different always the same
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