Saskatchewan

Bent & broken over. A man without a past, or future. Only a present – waits, awaits. A wanderer, an escape artist currently exploring the Canadian grasslands, and great how they are. The last bit of winter’s ice lays silent on the sides of the road, waiting patient to return to the ground, only to return, eventually, to the sky again – and thus the cycle, bound to continue, repeats itself, as all cycles do. Like all wanderers return to the void that encapasulates everything, but takes nothing with it. A new province begins as another ends, but on what terms? Only invisible lines – So I ask how’s one to tell where the change occurs? Somewhere between here and there, now and then, tomorrow and today. All of these things only dotted lines on maps, separating one land from itself. We are all one land with many dotted lines. Like lines on a highway. Is it any coincidence that when sped, dotted lines blur to solid ones? Just as fencepost is linked by chain, telephone pole by wire. Can we link the dotted lines that separate us to create solid ones? Or, in doing so, do we creature further distances in ourselves. This internal struggle, as connect(able) as dotted lines, but as insurmountable as solid ones. Ever be there no lines at all, and I will surely be found desiresome of them.