After we ran away: mold in our motel room, zits and a zirconium overture. Two hoodies on one journey; our families searching for us like bedbugs. You talked of train rides, a hitchhiker bride in a dueling guitar romance. I tumbled after you, my rough ravine, where foreign vines gained. My first time in cuffs: ego a mildewed log crumbling under weight. Our kudzu attraction meeting the fiercest flame; I destroyed a forest in your name.
some startling images but I have to admit I read the poem a few times and still don’t know what’s going on — unless it’s a variation on the Boss’s ‘Born to Run’: ‘tramps like us, we were born to run’ ;
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Yes, it is very much memory, lots of elements rolled together. That may be why it feels so ignored, as it was a glimpse into something that perhaps requires many more words to be expressed. Thank you, John, for stopping by.
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