I know the places I can go.
I’ve seen them, become them,
And felt the fear in the eyes
Of the Beloved ones.
Merely knowing
That these places exist
Has made me miss
The many homes I’ve known.
Burned bridges, scorched houses,
Yet I travel there
And weep for the losses,
Both imaginary and real.
There’s still a foundation
Under the smoldering ruins.
There’s still a path
At both bridge ends.
Time and effort,
Time and effort,
Until cigarettes and kerosene
Are all that are left.

One thought on “Instinctual”

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