Oh wondrous outlaw waving at bandwagons as they pass,
Shackled not by this century’s elusive systems,
Nor blinded by false definitions of success,
Tell me: Where am I to go but venture into the valleys
Of creative souls to pick at the well-edited scraps
Of former gold mines untapped?
I am a modern day Mary Boleyn –
Eager and impressionable.
Oh wondrous outlaw tell me:
Do big books bound by big business
Hold the maps to navigate post-adolescence?
I fear I’ve given myself over to immigrants
Laying me down brick on top of mortar
On top of brick on top of mortar;
My soul weighed down by the foundations of predetermination;
My methods of escape a cliché in comparison
To your erotic evasions.
Oh wondrous outlaw tell me:
Have you smelled the morning breeze off the Bosphorus,
Burned your toes in the sun-drenched sands
That whisper the stories of young men
Who died with love letters in their hands?
Did you find the Secret Garden and spend a year
Just to watch the leaves die then come to life,
Change color then wave goodbye as the biting English winds
Plucked them off young tree limbs?
Oh wondrous outlaw tell me:
Where do you go to escape?
Will you take me with you
And let me taste more than sweet words?
Feed me what wi-fi cannot: I’ve never heard a gunshot
Nor gazed at a fiery blaze thawing my brain
From a day spent on the hell-bent Himalayan terrain.
I’ve only read about it pausing mid-sentence
To get off the subway.
I am a modern day Jane Eyre
Knowing you must be out there somewhere.
Oh wondrous outlaw tell me:
Will I ever get service on the L?
642 Things to Write About 