Turns out,
my freest
moments are always
those
in which I'm
able to forget
that all my thoughts
have been
pre-selected.
And how they might
come spaced,
like skinny trees
through little iron
cages in the cement—
the products
of conscientious
urban planning
and development—
each one similar
in size and shape,
distinctly separate
but almost always
all considered
together
as one thing. Yes,
respites
like this
are the best,
because
the truth is
all that stuff—
like distance
and time
and space
and whatever—
are nice,
but they're just
options—not to mention
illusions.
