I’m afraid for people who have forgotten how to wander.
How will they find civilizations sidewalks
crumbling at the edges
of abandoned lots
where developers dreams died,
where tar eating crab grass ravages
sign posts,
reaching out through unused rivet holes
to give each passer-by the finger,
and then a wave,
and then the finger again.
There are messages meant for you the Ravens are trying to deliver,
while they cough over this weeks roadkill,
but you’ll never hear them with your face stuck to your phone
and your success stuck up you ass.
You wouldn’t know how to translate their stories anyways.
It’s a secret language you only learn after being pounded by the bulleted sound of rain
hitting a tin barn roof,
plying your brain like kindergarten clay
on that day you got lost
when you didn't mean to.
The music of the forgotten world is all that really mattered to your soul,
you didn't know thats what you were looking for all of those years
searching through foil wrapped vacation packages,
and the fantasy refuse of game show hosts.
It’s right there,
at your feet,
talking to you through the slug you
happened to step over.
When you forget how to wander,
you forget how to go mad,
in the right way,
when it really counts.
Beautiful
The forgotten world is really the real world. We cannot live without the air from trees the soil that gives us food.
What an illusion to think that the human world is the real world?
Can we dedicate this to all the teens and twenty-something’s who are so absorbed by mainstream culture and their phones? 😭
Yes! Thinking of ways to get my teen to wander with me.