First comes the desire

First comes the desire to escape, 

to look up for  listed 

names and ruffle through 

your drawers for the lost 

time-tables of long distance 

trains,

then an empty freedom

roaming in the uncertainty 

of the next second, 

next an echo that twists 

and curls around the 

habit of everyday, you 

look at the catalogue

of the pending day, it

stands barren like an 

empty street on a summer

day, you now know where 

your colours descended from,

now your days are hung like 

wet linen on murky days, 

you quicken home but for once

you pause before your door

when it strikes you hardest

you turn back to the unexplored

alleys but the strength in your legs

are gone, 

days pass practicising words

you want to write