If I Were Leaving


Old friends – people that I have known for years,
style themselves as monsters
as watches and clocks twitch with silent laughter.
The mind refuses to hold discourse
so I am forced to hold conversations
with my feet, walking away from irony.

The best counsel is to turn out the pockets of my life,
stuff my backpack with extra nothing
and carry on. Lighten your load. Hit the road.
Doors will slam, they have no choice.
Houses will bare their window-teeth
as they smile me a good-bye.

The trail I make is healthier
than the one I follow, until I lose my way.
But I must walk until I find
where the horizon meets the sky,
walk as if there is no greater destination
than the footsteps I just left behind.

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