My friend Scott has this place up North,
Real nice property.
Three cabins in the woods with a creek moving endlessly with time.
We’d venture up as soon as able, to escape society, be with nature, visit with people at the local bar that thought like us, shoot guns, arrows and drink beer.
We’d often wonder why no one else dared to make the journey out.
All those lonely people in the cities working themselves to the bone, petrified and unable to feel.
We’d talk about women, the dog days, politics, the government, when the end will come and how we managed our psychotic selves.
I’d look up at the stars barefoot at night wondering when the aliens would take me or when God would come and destroy the world for our atrocities.
The others cannot see, they don’t read, write, think, just cope with their miserable lives and tell themselves, “it’s going to be alright.”
Or, “the less I know the better.”
I’ve been out of work for over a half year, can’t pay taxes, bills, loans, rent.
They’ve criminalized being poor,
But I was always criminal.