all day long
everywhere
i wonder
how this came
to pass--
ferry, bus,
restaurant,
money changing
hands.
there's guilt
underlying
my leisure.
all people equal
but on what
level?
is my pleasure
a form of
denial? |
 |
a tree or more
died for
this paper.
the pen i write
with is pure
petrochemical.
this bus
burns
fuel
of unknown
origin
while millions
starve
in places
i never
visited
~night bus,
Dubrovnik to Split |