Image: Looking out the window from the plane into the dark night.
Procrustean dismemberment* of self
I was little
Yet I knew
In my bones
A ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’
Confused me utterly
Into silence
Don’t they know?
Can’t they see?
Can’t they tell?
Must I choose?
How?
I bit the bullet, I was a ‘good’ little boy!
Ouch!
* See comment 1
Image: Two young trees protected by plastic covers glowing in the sunset, en-route between Launceston and Tullah, Tasmania.
I followed
I followed a fellow
I followed a fellow traveler’s path
I had to change direction
I had to change
I had to
Image: Point of departure.
Melbourne
Molding grid
Moving people squarly
Towering buildings dwarfing people
Traffic masking natural sounds humans make
Trash tossed like signatures of ego
Hippest fashion
Hottest fast food
Highest people
Seven-Eleven, McDonalds, Target
Souls forsaken
Searching among the lost
What country?
Which identity?
Who?
People
Persueing
Procrustean dismemberment*
Down under
Did I land
Did I?
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