Sunday, May 04, 2008

There are things I miss about home. There are things I miss about early, foolish youth.

It's four in the morning and I am back in my apartment.

I would like to be out on the streets. On a motorbike.
I would like to be cold with the promise of home when the sun rises.
I would like to be on my way to the top of the hill that holds the ruins of a myth.
I would like to climb the tree that sways towards the moon.
I would like to ride back with drunken comrades.
I would like to cruise lest the tank run dry.

I would like to line up on the patio of the cafe waiting and yearning for cheese omelettes.

I would like to get to bed at noon.