I want to do what adventurers do
and travel by canoe to Timbuktu.
I want to be a sailor on the sea
on a wooden ship called the Annabelle Lee.
I want leaves to slap my face
as I blaze the way to some exotic place.
I want one more chance for a last great romance
where she and I dance on a moonlit street in France.
But instead I spend my days locked inside a box
watching seconds die as they race across the clocks
and I find myself wondering why people say
that doing that is what makes a productive day.
