Vol 9, Num 9 :: 2010.04.30 — 2010.05.13
Life feels different on foot.
Drivers are, in fact, driven — frustrated
by the confines of asphalt, forced into file.
I, however, am free to find a way
over the field, bovine.
I scrafe through fallen leaves; I fill up on vistas and seasonal perfumes.
If I meet fellow travelers, face to face, I am affable, even friendly.
Form follows function; foot follows foot,
but not fascist. If my face turns toward the rising daffodils,
I’m finished.
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