Life is a Journey

If that is the case, I need to stop

handing out free boarding passes

to the flights of my mind.

There’s no more room

in my Samsonite soul,

bursting at the seams

with ripped kimonos,

cheap espresso stained

handwritten pages with

the legibility of a tired child,

the scent of cigarettes

and hot hard liquor.

Maybe I should walk the miles

instead of dream them,

with only a backpack full

of empty pages, a grey hoodie,

and a bottle of blackberry Merlot

with only a thin layer of condensation

on its body.