. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

The Million Miles

Keep your head up above the curvature of the Earth. And your heart open. Too many places are too far away...

Where are you in the million miles,
Holding close to your chest,
As I am,
The possibility of us,
In all those million miles,
Where ever it is cell-phone signals go,
In passing moments,
Days that feel like minutes,
In a kiss that disappears too quickly,
In dreams that fade with the first light of a dying star,
We exist as an idea,
As a hope,
As the full rich scope of imagination,
Words build up the fantasy,
But only my body next to yours proves any truth,
Your soft hand in mine,
The taste of your lips in my mouth,
Somewhere lost in the million miles,
Somewhere between here and there,
Perhaps in the static,
In the breeze that blows hot from the sea,
Perhaps all you ever were was a ghost,
Only travelling the distance home can I be sure.


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