Written by Megan Leonie Hall on Tuesday the 17th of April 2012
I had no intention to return to you.
I always knew I would arrive here.
I walked three hundred miles,
To slough away your structure.
I pilgrimaged from east to west,
Through groves and lanes and forest tracks,
Steep valleys; brambled dense in roots,
Becoming a shadow in the unmapped scrub,
The all seeing eye in the bark,
The moss growing thick,
Blind my mind and still my mouth.
My hair full of nesting animals,
Of thoughts that were not born here.
I dream my body is a blade,
Amongst a zillion gnawing whetstones,
I hew myself a line that edges:-
The fallacy of perfection,
The failure of material things,
The certain tick of entropy,
The thickening osmosis of urban psychosis:-
The discrepancy between what is felt and what is seen.
I want to remember the future,
I am a hungry arrow of time,
Craving a flight from this concrete quiver.
My pain threshold is sky rise high,
Out of my heart's metropolis of arteries,
The empathy of survival sings:-
Cranes are liquored with iron bled sap,
American Indians dance for money,
Rain runs helplessly into underground ducts,
The pelican folds her beak into her feathers,
Fixing preternatural eyes on air conditioned strangers,
We'll meet under the willow tree, kith,
Each according to our natures,
Two by two, or something lonelier.
With no intention to return.
I always knew I would arrive.