Make Art, Not War

Monday, March 7, 2011

My Block

All the dog walkers
porch smokers
those insane joggers
that you’ll see at
all hours

around the lakes
and no matter the weather
(which is what makes them seem crazy)
but then there’s me- on the same streets
and for similar reasons

All of the seasons
the regulars, the riff-raff
and the street bums
are a walking meditation
I have come to know them well

I circle back and start over
like this is the only way I know
how to think sometimes
My block is where the sidewalk ends
My head is where I’ve kept these things
that matter

I remember, I travel the distance
over and over
I have claimed it
It is my way home

I walk this block
like the back of my hand
with my headphones in
on auto-pilot
I like it

I live here

I love it here

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