I dream of Tangiers,
Of seeing the desert sun sink below the Atlas mountains
Sipping a cold drink
Eating Majoun candies
And smoking Arabic cigarettes.
I dream of Venice,
Of boats drifting through sewage waters of romance,
Of canalside cafe’s,
Maybe not alone in the lover’s mecca.
I dream of cold mountain air,
Filling my broken lungs and blowing through my matted hair,
Of hearing swan songs whip through soft, emerald green grass
And of writing poetry atop Kerouac’s conquest.
I dream of Thailand,
Over the counter pharmaceuticals and local delicacies and
Beautiful forest mists.
I’ve had dreams of Australia and Germany and everywhere in between,
I’ve been dreaming so long of leaving this place,
That I forgot to become anything while I was here.