gone nomad
clicking our way
just outside
just inside what feels
an understanding
more solid than rivers
even more determined
than mud yet
it remains just
a feeling
emanating perhaps
from a desire
for stasis
which may feel right
for a time
then get boring
and we would
wait the length of desire
for anything at all
to go nomad
to break the stale
to tip us off balance
or even send us
rippling into
a distance not
wanted but as inevitable
as the swirling map
of the world
showing you anyplace
in a simple picture
almost instantaneously:
but no justice for
the array of grasses
in a simple prairie
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