Exile    poems by Matthew Freeman February 2021


I’m feeling more and more
like Palestine
is right here in Carbondale.
I’ll be the guy high
up in the tree.

I see a Samaritan on a skateboard.
I see the postman
trying to proselytize a guy
who thinks the virus is a hoax
perpetrated by the Deep State
in order to control the populace.
Oh, I see heretics everywhere!

I wonder what it was
twelve years ago
when Electric Tony and I
went to brainstorm
with forties in Forest Park
and the drizzling rain kept getting
our notebooks wet
and Tony wouldn’t stop talking about the Wilderness.

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