WORDS AND POETRY OF MIKE FALCONER
A place for all the things that do not already have a home on the net.
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Leaving – home, city and responsibilities,
For the singular job of travel
The company of anonymity and strangers,
Retreating into a bubble of ones own invention:
linear, predefined, insular and temporary.
Your apologies don’t work any more
My tolerance for the bullshit has expired
The lack of care has begat a lack of care
There is snow in Vegas
Like the star that burns twice as bright
It will be gone by tomorrow.