Some of us want something

beyond

droopy powerlines

familiar roads

and the limits

we freely recognize

in ourselves.

The traffic signs

all look the same.

Is it true

that you take yourself

with you

wherever you go

so that, the limits are always within you?

The roads that lead out of town

are empty

with want and desire

uprooted trees

traveling

great distances

like dead monsters

between states.

What are we

if not dead dumb rejected monsters

leaving town

to be cut-up

and heaped on the stockpile of humanity?

That heart

of living warm wood

wants to be useful

and not neglected, in the mud and the rain

loved by sandpaper

and shaped

by God’s hands

Wood is meant for more than the fire.