My half life
Is the better part of me
up to you entirely
which half you want to see
Stolen library books
Or loud guitars
I exist
Somewhere in between
Diamonds and dungaree
Top floor hotels
Or a flophouse squat
Something in a middle path
On a train or out to sea
Weirdness follows along
Wherever i wander and roam
Tiniest palm islands
Or festival jamboree
Trails up mountains
Without a map
Trying to get lost
Cities with no language
Means or currency
My skills are entirely impractical
Sitting in patio cafes
Writing letters to loves i never knew
And drinking watery tea
I’ve minted banknotes on vellum
Carved ink stamps in balsa wood
And manufactured clandestine postage stamps
Printed in Singapore
Who will you choose when we meet
Out here on the globe
Will you recognize my face
As a friend or
Consider me an enemy
Three miles sideways
Just a couple of pals
Perhaps a lover and a best friend
Rotating walk-on characters
In a dramatic documentary comedy
Will you cast me in yours
If i perform well in your required auditions?
Scars from stingrays
A list of broken bones
Initials carved on noble trees
Scrapbooks full of secrets
I’ve heard of something called a home
But not sure where i left it
You ask me where i’m from “from”
I ask you where we are
Observe the world with binoculars
But a monocle shows more clear
Usually hidden behind dark glasses
To hide my joyful tears
Shortwave radio brings me
News from a decade or four ago
Explorers gone before me
Charting meandering paths
Pointing the longest way
To warmth and mystery
Maybe i can be the one
Who inspires or perhaps
Breaks you out of everyday
You are whoever you choose
As though i know
When reality suggests
I know a little except
How to be occasionally free
Pingback: Lost the Plot (Finding Home) – Postcard #85 — Dave Olson Creative Life Archive