Writing as a Side Effect of Walking - Poem

in an effort to quiet the incessance of the mind 

tie a shirt around your waist 

walk with misplaced purpose and vigor 

until the boozy late night sun sweeps you up in giddiness.

until you forget which foot is which 

and which comes after the other.

until a strut turns to a whirling of hops and skips

of stops and stares, of grins and blinks.

while your ear is to a tree, rainforest takes root 

and it’s as if around any corner will be some ghostly entity 

waiting with unwarranted riddles of morality.

but all that waits is solitude 

and after that, deeper solitude.

and at some point

after losing yourself to the rhythm of the hills

to the patterns of birdsong and to the liquidation of sunlight.

after losing your footing and your place in the world 

it seems arbitrary to play with words in the mind.

like a child casting a spindley net around the most monstrous, 

glorious, tesselating abstractions.

and still, somehow, you return to the point at which you began

a string of words in tow.