EN ROUTE

Terence Winch

Your feet start to get that feeling. Give acquiescence
a chance. Adjust your shirt. Pay attention to Istanbul.
Hit yourself with a shoe. Hammer your scales into huge discs.
Squeeze your icon till the chanting monks come home.

I took a trip. Opened the door, walked into a crack
at the edge of the front office in the rare years.
It smacked of something minimal, something so...
so attuned to the spirit of individual comfort.

Much of this took the form of crude gestures
and even cruder philosophies of movement