Random Journey
Random Journey
Is the inception of a voyage the end of abstract nothingness?
Or the beginning of conscious life as driving to town buying the papers.
I remember a song, “Set sail at Sunset.” humming the words.
A red sun and calm sea, this not the crossing of Styx after sundown
ss it immaturity making fun of me again you can’t sail to Afghanistan?
I can sail there in a balloon and land where the Taliban shoots holes in the sky
smoke American cigarettes, we can drink coffee and have a natter.
The problem is, you can’t see any women like they do not exist.
It is like walking without crutches on a broken leg.
No one reads the “Guardian” in this part of the world.
I sit here and wait not for crossing any rivers but to sail the seventh ocean.
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