my country and continent
is something for Europeans and tourists
to come exploit and visit.
“at least they shop and consume.”
and my people have become trained
to the will
of the buyer.
and then they bring in
and everyone’s fucked.
and at dawn the pen moves much quicker.
i couldn’t be a wanderer. i yearn for common faces. and the desert seems too cold or wicked. i’m not ready to confront it. i couldn’t be a hermit. i really do love listening to stories. i’d much rather watch them pass by, and sometimes i’ve no desire to even try or get to know them- just to acknowledge their existence and they mine- that is enough, at least in my head. it’s all in my head, no? couldn’t get lost in the jungle cause the city lights would call me in. but how do i love the ocean? but sometimes it’s almost like drowning.
towards you i hope the stars may guide me and ease the traveling. and getting lost in crowds won’t be so scary cause you’re there with me.
and at dawn, the pen moves much quicker.