A Part, not Apart

It's not the same, and I know why.
I'm here, alone, above an empty
Field, not close to anything.
The squirrels bustle through
The trees. The birds are bent
On fornicating. There's no
Sound, except the wind, but,
Still, I feel myself within a
Giant beast, the USA, grotesque
And dying, violent, thing,
And, thus, though I sit in
The sun, I'm ill at ease. I
Wasn't so when I was in
New Zealand, disconnected,
Far away.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 25 times
Written on 2013-04-26 at 13:36

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