I need to go away

Don’t know if there’s a calling

My phone is on mute

But something is sending me away, anyway

The “where” is an acute

Question?

Ships arrive, unknown origin

To my bay

Missionaries pour out, answers in their clutch

Choice is my superstition

Scared of where it all ends up

As each line does

I miss corruption, as easy as a bribe

As a whore for a bride,

Now everything is 

Traffic at the junctions clog up

My streets

I have so much that carries me 

          - How to get home?

                  Missionaries have converted to selling roses

                  To the honking drivers

                  Their bibles got wet under the rain

                            The letters blent in together

                       In One illegible clutter

If you don’t speak, you don’t stutter

You fade away— 

Me?                       away                -          

Yes.

                                                                                     away