Transition

He threw all of his t-shirts away
when he found out his sentence.
Cast them out with his freedom,
for he would not need their tired
messages, they would not clothe his
purpose correctly after the journey.
There's something to be said for
not selling anyone down the river
for a lighter load to bear.
Not too much to be said for sitting
there longer than one must.
He was gone much of the time before
he left. On a bus to anywhere, somewhere
other than home, Any way to move,
to be fluid in his space,preparing
for being just the opposite,
stationary within the walls,
for longer, because he would not crack
and sell them out. He moved just to look
at the changing, blurry scenery
that sped through time and seemed
to also stop it.
Make it stand still just long enough.
For him to take note, reveal it's purpose.