I’m still traveling, and I don’t have much of a wifi connection, so I’m going to post this really quick for you guys. 🙂
(This poem was written in reflection of the four days I spent in a car, but really it could be a metaphor for anything. haha)
The Dramatic Vagabond
The air is different in this
place—dryer than it’s been before.
I can feel it in my nose—I can feel the
blood that threatens to
d r i p
and stain the wrinkled clothes
that I’ve been wearing for the past
four days. My head pounds
from the air pressure
change—the mountains are
to blame. I can’t remember the
last time I’ve sat down to a table
for a meal I didn’t peel from
paper or plastic or both.
I can’t remember what it feels like to
s t r e t c h
my limbs outside of the metal box
I write my poetry in.
I take a sip of hot water I pull
from melted ice, and watch the
condensation fall from the
plastic bottle onto the page I’m
trying to write on.
The ink smears.
Hope you liked it! Have a nice day, whoever you are! 😀