The Turmoil of Diaspora – Sean D. Layton


Decades of wrong-footed wandering in the wilds.

God’s poor GPS signal or our ineptitude?

I thought we had amap?

I’m drawing it with crayons as we go.

Solipsistic meandering.

We’re lost.

Yes, dear, we know.

Such poor company


and pointing out the obvious.

Grass, rope-like and grasping

clutching tentacles

pulling, tripping, slowing

redefining infinity.

I’m tired.

Shall we leave you behind?

No. But you’re going to anyway

if you can.

Journeying to or fleeing from?

It makes a difference you know.

Does it?

Uncertainty makes for panicked hurrying

to nowhere.

I want to go home.

Sorry, it’s not on our itinerary.

That’s okay,

it never really existed anyway.

Footsteps playing hide and go seek.

Where can we rest?

Wherever you want

but we can’t promise comfort.

And we’re not waiting.

I’ll keep walking, thanks.

New vistas ahead?

No, just tired reruns.

In every direction

old footprints

in churned…

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