On the Road

For months

I have accumulated,

my soul

in the soles,

of my shoes.

And now 

I am going

to wear it down,

on the road,

and expose

all its layers.

At first, 

I will scrape

the grime of the city

against the gravel.

Naked,

rolling on the moist

verdant grass,

I will wipe off,

the indifference

of the, "now".

And when my skin

is green

and raw,

and the wounds 

expose me,

when the cold wind

purifies the oozing self,

I will offer 

it to that dwindling 

path in the forest.

There will be 

no return,

for the soles

shall be so worn,

that the soul

will be a demarcation of  the roads