Rhode Island…
Where the dead walk amongst the living.
Ever so easily.
The nights by the coast so cold
and breath is seen seemingly
Where the streets speak low
whispering whatever who wonders while wandering
without worry whether why weathers wither walkers
Alone in the night
accompanied by bright passing cars and lonely streetlights
longing to escape, to get away.
Fog, rain, lack of warmth is all that fills the air
Contemplating and succumbing to thought of escape.
This imagination
is my truth
even when I have so much to do.
