The Wanderers

We are the Wanderers.

Nomads of an urban wasteland,

where the artificial reigns supreme.

We can't travel on their highways

and by-ways, for we are not of this

world. We are searching for our

lush garden, fruit-of-plenty,

our spiritual silence. 

And what we find is

hard, rusted scrap metal.

chintzy replicas of love, mass-produced

to bleeding eyes, and 

skin-and-bone icons

slathered onto every 20-story building

for miles. 

We long for our mother's breast and

our father's knee, and

the sweet assurance that 

tomorrow will always be another chance to

try again.