Vodka & Coke

I want to go,
somewhere with,
an acre of tall grasses,
with foxes and rabbits,
running through it,
and I want there to be,
a little house with,
flies on the windowsill,
and quilts on the beds,
and flower planters hanging,
from the window ledges.

 

But I also want to go,
to a bustling city with,
honking speeding cars,
and with night clubs and bars,
and a small apartment,
with exposed brick walls,
and piping in the ceiling,
and a cup on the coffee table,
filled with vodka and coke,
and always having,
a bag packed for the trip,
to India or France or Israel,
or anywhere really.

 

I want to settle down,
but my conscience,
is always pulling me,
out of the water,
that I’m swimming in.