Stone Truthless


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.







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Daniel-59's picture

Ah My Northern Belle  This is

Ah My Northern Belle 

This is exactly why I live Far Far Away from the Concrete jungle 
( and the fact I haven't learned to play well with city folks yet )
Come on down You can dig up your own worms and we'll go a Catfishing when the sun goes down !  

Every story-teller bends the myth to his own purpose. that's why a Hero has a thousand faces

allets's picture

Dear Mountain Emperor

I caught my biggest cat in Zileanople, Pennsylvania at age 15. From Port Huron, Muchigan. We used to go night crawling after rainstorms and sold em to tourists. Red Wigglers ARE the Cadillac of worms. Break out the shovels and tackle box. Tee hee hee hee.