never more than
a few miles from
home
i mourn
the places I’ll never
travel
the villas,
colosseums of
Rome, Italy
the castles,
Alpine Lakes
of Germany
the religious
centers, cultural
islands, beaches of Japan
will remain foreign
soil, an alien sensation
only hypothesized
by the foot
thus, the toe will
continue to curl downwards
to the same gas stations,
the same warehouses,
the same fast food
places that have stood
as staples caught in
the eye of decades
and the tongue
will taste the same foods
think the same thoughts
worry the same worries
pay the same bills
wish the same wishes
experience the same
taciturn patterns,
familiar chips in
the woodwork splintering
the once wandering eye
and only age will change
the flesh, the mind,
the interiors, exteriors
surrounding
the once dreaming brain—
a man stuck, broken down
in the molasses, the muddy
moat of his hometown
floating to imagined palaces
with only wisps of information
hummingbird vibrations
from beating wings
immobile yet moving,
wishing to
be truly
alive.