Sometimes being this far away sucks hard. But it sucks even harder when it inspires bad poetry. So here it is, for your cringing pleasure:

There’s this thing, you see
well, no… you cannot.
It’s the distance–
but it likes to make itself known.

That horrible, vacuum-like distance.
Five hours from The Coast
And six more from The Temples

Seven, if you’re lucky, from Samoas
And more, and more and more
… and more from my heart.

There’s nothing but the wind
and the floatsam-jetsam
and the jet stream
and the streamers
left behind.
There’s nothing.

And all the grains of sand could not bridge me
away from here.

But perhaps I
do not want
Them to save me.

For what is this oasis
if not the savior
of the wrecked man?

©M.C.