A Tourist at Home

I want to Escape

as I have become

A Tourist at Home.

 

These strangers don’t

drink the Strange Brews but

foreign, colorful

Kombucha shots.

 

Come along brother!

To New York, to Paris,

Hell, to Laredo!

Let us escape the rules

of those Phony crowds.

 

We are the new era,

Lost Generation.

Our bodies shells of

what we used to be.

 

Those innocent days,

the laughter at the

thought of growing old,

merely memories,

deeply cut into

Our souls, never healing,

Forever stuck and

Forever trapping

us within this cage.

 

I want to escape,

to get away from the

Madness, Chaos, lost

Phonies whose mere goals,

mere purpose in life

is to suck the life

of Hopefuls,

banning cool tangos

in the summer rains.

 

“Quit trying to throw

Your life away they say.”

Certainly my friend,

I will indeed quit,

once I can make my

Escape from this place

And no longer be

A Tourist at home.

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