Psychogeography
where his body fell to earth like paper:
all that remains is a wooden cross,
wildflowers on the side of a highway.
I've been trying to go home my whole life—
my mother tracing my face,
my fingers. Trying to find my father
in the country he left her. I was home there.
Longer & longer, I belong nowhere.
Longer & longer, I belong nowhere
in the country he left her. I was home there,
my fingers trying to find my father.
My mother tracing my face,
I've been trying to go home my whole life—
wildflowers on the side of the highway,
all that remains is a wooden cross
where his body fell to earth like paper.