I await breathless on the front porch
tourniquet around my head
The street sweats nervous of the news
the wind whispers nothing
promises everything?
Blood drips off my swollen head
shirt stained the color of the gods
White noise emanating from the home
I have turned my back on
its electric impulse screen of a heart
flickers war, death, rage,
and greed dressed as love
no talk of compassion to be heard
I feel like a tourist,
so many sites with historical
but no sentimental value
The language, though known,
muddles the tongue
strange idiosyncracies
strange ways of doing business
but I played along
saw the sites
took no pictures
With my bags packed, I wait
on the creaky wooden planks for winged deliverance,
a lone star sits on the edge of the gloaming
As I face the sun,
the shadows reach across
the pavement to grab hold
and pick apart these ragged bones
It's okay, you can have them,
I won't need them where I'm going
Atleast I hope not