I crave the long grass, spangled with
dandelions,
Away from Sunday's sunburned, misguided
beauticians,
Free from the confines of rectangles
and squares,
Where the round, rolling toes of the
foothills
and pyramids beyond all Egypt's
comprehension
Replace the knee-grinding right angles
of stairs.
The thought of these things, and their
closeness, tantalizes.
I know that even though I haven't
started leaving,
I'm already most of the way there.
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