perpetual waiting (or: Life in Croatia)

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i’m just hiding–

tucked away in my own little quiet corner of the world
as if i have the right to call it my own.
its quiet is that of the innocent damned in hiding
nervous and pensive, steady yet fiddle-footed
and it is not much of a corner, rather a boomerang
and maybe that is why i felt so compelled to return
to this land fore(my)father

that fast forward flicker film
via vile k-hole bigcity existence
of those long begotten salad days
into this quasi silent film reel dramatics
in a country plagued with perpetual waiting

waiting for what?

for an end?
for a beginning?
for answers?
for questions?

waiting, just waiting

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