The Canister

You stare at your thousand dollar screen

I gaze into abysses of oceans azure and forests untamed

The sea spray and mountain mist engulfing my beard and body

The blazing sun caressing my face and forehead

You hop between glass and concrete temples radiating air conditioning

I hop from muddy banks to raggedy rocks

Bathed in frost, grime and sweat eclipsed by the mighty mountains

You dream of riding around town in a convertible with your booming bass blasting

I long for riding in the back of a lorry lined with sacks and hay

Sun tanned, throat parched, thirst for the rustic countryside partly quenched

You sip your pumpkin spiced latte, worried about your Gap shirt getting crumpled

I sip my roadside chai, beaming as its warmth envelops my toes in tattered shoes

Embracing me from within, holding me close in cahoots with the pouring rain

The earthen scent rising up and taking over my senses

The amber liquid caresses and cleanses

But we are not so different, you and I 

Just wayfaring strangers trying to make the most of our existences

Escaping within otherworldly distractions and diligences