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.

Sidewalks lie. Untruth exists in

miles of concrete proclaiming,

"I will lead you." Young  naieve

impressionable, you take its worth

flat out as reality for a way

of arriving.

.

I despise sidewalks. The promise is a

goal never acquired. Sidewalks never

end. There is, however, destiny in

distance, an achievement after human

exertion. Then you turn and go home.

A choice to become, a traveler is told

wrongly, and still such choices

are decisively made.

.

Misconstrued like a wandering bird

ensnared, waving in the breeze of what

was supposed to be a self-determined

trek. I adore honest dirt clinging

to the bottoms of your gymshoes like

real and undeniably solid essence

of spit out and half melted

chewing gum.

.

A sidewalk posturing as a conduit means

it exists for arrivals, but it lies. At

the end of sidewalks is neither the end

of the street, nor a block's conclusion. 

It leads to another span of crushed stones

going nowhere particularly. Artificial

paths go on.

Spit on the sidewalk is more believable.

These things I admire for no more 

distinction than their character. They are 

what they are and they deliver.

.

Lady A

06-14-16

222a

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