Sometimes I long for ignorance. If I didn’t see the hypocrisy that entangles me perhaps I would be able to be in one place for a while. But I grow restless and wild and everything turns to ash in my mouth. Every few years I run away from it all, but I know that I can’t truly escape. And perhaps I don’t really want to.
We sit like shirts,
Crumpled in cupboards,
Drowning in options
We desperately conform
To our uniqueness,
Promised loud
Against the evidence.
Uniformed by regiment
Marching past cashiers
A plastic salute
To gods beyond our ken
And since Sumeria
The priests reap.
The bottled sweetness
Rots my stomach into aisles
I flee.
A cave in littered woods
To practice heresy.
This hermitage bought and sold
Like the rest.
Locals visit, and feed me
The scraps of the system I fled
I thrive in the flea markets,
See gold in a pile of leaves,
Glimpse through the static haze,
The beauty of the garden
We almost had.