(December 2022. Entered into the deepest depression of my life. Feeling trapped by forces beyond my agency. Written on the bus from Providence to New York to visit some good old friends.)
will the self escape in time?
on the drive into new york
the graveyard packed too tight
and the factory looming
the people own this body
enslaved to the species
chains link my outer cortex
the shade of the tree is
different than concrete shade
they lay around me
oh, can this body hurt
Beatin' Paths ~~~ The journey to the Great American Novel 