[…]

Michael
Caldon

Freedom

The fugitives, the outcasts, the outlaws.
Running wild in the
shadows.
Far from the view, or so it seemed,
Of those who live for
control

Spitting from the roofs of tree forts,
Down on the heads of Mr.
Normal.
Running as far as possible,
Past all the limits into the
worlds of juice.

The rush, the spinning, losing control,
Spiraling down to where
freedom is just a song.
Flashing lights and broken glass,
The last
fingers grip surrenders.

Control let go and freedom won
Punched in the gut with morning
sun
The fugitives, the outcasts, the outlaws.
Looking up at the
treetops, while

Wiping spit from their heads.

return
to SHAMPOO issue #1