I often long to get away
from the spitting world grinding
flour from my naked bones
and weeping on my undug grave
with whiskey soaked lizard tears.
I have longed to get away
and stow aboard a circus caravan,
to clown among the drowned
and the damned and the sinful weak
in their mournful week sleep.
I dream longingly of getting away
to pastures of newly dug noisome sod
without the heady manure of acrid
vision cleared of mud and the livid lies,
of breathed air free of prejudice and flies.
I have longed to get away,
far away, for now, for this moment, away.
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