Rucksack

by Steven J. Serafiani

Rucksack.
that word never carried so much
I want to embody
Kerouac would not be proud thus far
the fake angel head who has laundered his existence
not a pity party cause I still have
breath

Rucksack.
sell my car
too shiny; too new
zip olivetti shut
stuff in and head-
maine, who gives a shit
give portland and bearded seafarers a shot

Rucksack.
I have christened a new persona- no,
I have awakened my true nature
and I cannot be coddled by
all
of
this
menial masonry

Rucksack.
blow
family won’t understand
friends haven’t seen this side
let it lay
blow-
around the edges
the patchwork middles
there is so much we all fear to see; to experience
and it turns us all into dust bowl farmer

Rucksack.
rough cloth beholden
don’t reason or rhyme-
just get
goin’.

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