politicians are all made of air.
hot and entitled hair.
I have had enough of it.
enough of it all.
the news and the nightmare.
the arguing and the attacks.
I want to leave.
I want to discover a pond in Paris.
find an apartment overlooking it.
live there forever without a TV.
consider throwing my cellphone into the pond.
meet a good gal and give up my past.
this wishful poem could keep going.
but I am going to stop there.
and figure out how I actually attain this disappearing.
how hard can it be?
maybe it is a grand collision with a nice consequence.
I have to work with what is left.
of days.
let the rocks skip across the water's surface.
unflattened.
not flattered.
if so, I will never return to the scenes of my life's crimes.