The Sweet Escape

By wph

When I was a little younger than I am now, 

I went home after school and wrote until bedtime.

That was enough to take me into the stratosphere. 

I'd play in the cloud for hours and hours.

I'd wait under lamp posts made out of adjectives and line breaks.

Calvino's cities were real; I could see them clearer than he could. 

 

That's not enough anymore.

My imagination gets weaker every day.

I need more - 

To be deconstructed so that I am a pile of words laying on the floor, 

Waiting to be rearranged into something new,

Something more beautiful than what I am now. 

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wph

VT

17 years old

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