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Sick of home

Sometime I get homesick for places I have never been.
I get wanderlust so badly it makes me grind my teeth till they shatter..

During the grave shift, at the shelter,
some nights, will I do nothing but look up bus and (even better) train schedules.

(Everyone knows trains are the only romantic way to travel)

I use maps and red markers to plot escape routes.
I always have a fire escape and enough bills to leave town.

8 hours spent with maps and bus schedules spread out on the floor of a locked office... plotting the great escape.

I have been homesick for Russia: (Thanks to Dostoyevsky and Akhmatovaa)

Henry Miller made me homesick for the Paris of the 40's.

I blame two things on literature:
two fatal cracks and fissures in my personality,
cracks and fissures that often manifest in 'strange' and 'inappropriate' places.

(Watch the news and tell me there is anything that can be called
'inappropriate behavior' these days....)

The two 'feet of clay' I place squarely on literature's doorstep are:

My ability to only feel at home in places where I am not,

and my Heroin addiction.

Cos every good junkie:
Heroin or travel
have their mentors.

poem by Brevet Wilson
Added by Poetry Lover
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