Tuesday, May 11, 2010


This feels SO angsty to me as I read it. Ah, well... it came out. It's mine, I'll keep it.

His relatives crouch
and tell stories of whale hunts
through ancient dances

He crouches down low
in these dirty city streets
so far from balene

But still deep inside
embedded in DNA
are the old movements

When he throws bottles
against dark liquor store walls
he hears the old ones

And maybe he's there
maybe the drink takes him home
since he's so far south

Plane tickets cost thousands
and he never earned enough
to get home enough

Home became unreal
a vapor, a cold deceit
nothing he still knew

And in this grey place
grey for all the wrong reasons
he folded inward

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