Written in December 2006


There is no wholesome plant here

There is no learning

No passion.

Being with the dead kills me.


There aren’t enough trees

Not enough shade

Dry dust and plastic.


My tears are not water enough

to give life to this

Nor my anger or frustration.


The only thing that’s constant

is the blue sky above. So


I wish to be a bird that finds freedom in the blocks

I wish to be the clouds again

I wish to be the trees, my friends and the ever-moving breeze.


I see machines everywhere

They never walk alone

But they are.


There is no freedom or intelligence.


I need water and sunshine,

I need leaves, insects, streams, lakes,

I need Home.

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