six days, six months, six years away.

preparations are all i have been making.
six days, six months, six years away.
the lens allowed to slide focus continually.
it never clicks and provides clarity for today.
the immediate is blurry.
undefined as i pass through the day to day.
there is pressure, yes.
it only lies in the tasks that build a brighter tomorrow.
there is nothing that effects today.
it has already been given.
survival is no longer immediate.
self preservation becomes a longer range scale.
i do not have a crystal ball.
however, i do have a mind.
i can see the general twists and turns.
some days months from now cut into stone years ago.
most days i am a criminal.
committing small time crimes.
i must be serving out my time here.
i pace the city streets and country roads for hours every day.
sometimes i leave.
north, south, east, west: irrelevant.
i most often escape to the place i call home.
a city with cobbled streets and giants fighting the clouds.
however, currently, i do not belong there.
i have become the alien in my own homeland.
i have become the black sheep no longer welcome in the herd.
when the sun has shown for months on end,
when the bridges crack with the july heat,
then i will be able to leave this place and feel at home once again.
i need an ally or a deep well run dry.
somewhere to rest my bones until the temperatures run high.
somewhere to rest my bones until i somehow get by.