The Homecoming Reflex

    It is something I do when my mind is shut off, when the boundless sky rests it's head on the warm olive landscape. This is where you will find me; drowning in summer, choking on borrowed air. It is an anthology, a collection of the ghosts of my past, present, and future. This is where you will find me; where the malingering spirit of my childhood rests, arm over arm. I will lay with my face pressed to his face, proving that the fraternal bond we share will not outlive time; proving that I am not what I have become, but what I wish to be. This is where you will find me; disproving proof. I will charge into the heart of the apparitions that legitimize my consciousness. This is where you will find me; my stream of thought pouring into the gutters, unyielding to the underground web of roots and dirt and rock. It is the thirst that motivates the masses. A myriad of faces and colors all striving toward the same goal. This is where you will find me; fighting the current of self-preservation, my skin falling to my feet. This is where you will find me; head cocked heavenward, watching the explosions litter the sky with smoke, the wreckage falling before my feet. I am the enemy. This is where you will find me; making foot-prints in the sidewalk with my mismatched shoes. The black egg of the night cracks and the orange ring of daylight begins to shine from its edges. This is where you will find me; me and him, he and I. Our foot-steps project our future in duo-tone patterns on the wet grass. This is where you will find me. The trinity of I's and me's and he's becoming an us, leaving the home we died in behind. This is where you will find me.