a collection of thoughts led me to nowhere,
maybe the train station around the corner
where the satisfaction had run dry and the need to escape was growing hungrier.
Where to go when no place in mind will leave you alone,
stranded, abandoned, in the quiet hands of vast loneliness-
where you're not even sure you want to be, anyway.
many men flee across the ocean
easily, swiftly, gracefully and without passing notice
all the while, while I cannot conjure thoughts into words
into frames of mind in which people will see, understand, or
wish to interpret.
I'm rendered useless while the train whistles past,
today I don't get on, who's to say I ever have.
Not fluid, not laced, not brushed up and glossed,
I haven't a voice to be raised, nor a contented fiber.
"stop letting through metaphor, stop rhyming for fallacies"
not to say it was ever any sort of success.