wanderer
with a sufi soul
bound in failing structures
a postmodern calamity
caving in
cardboard boxes
filled with useless shit
busywork
in the thirsty desert
of the mind
lack of spontaneity is my disease
dis ease
dis able the cords
unplug the great experiment
give me my fucking village
a porch and a fire to cook
give me freedom
and grace
and love
and all that will be left
is the dance