if it gets so bad i have to leave this civilized hell, where would i go, what would i do, and what about my dogs, who belong to others after all. 
yesterday my friend said i belong in the pacific northwest and maybe only tricky fate landed me here and i said i'd been there and now i'm here and there's a reason i have to engage, but is that illusory? when i was there, up on gabriola island, the first time, i was 13, and my pedophile uncle put a move on me. back then you could put a tent on a half acre for 6 months and own it for a dollar, canadian. still even then i wanted to escape america so, i went back at 21. i finished my sad schooling and then i was heartbroke and the primordially giant plants and trees dwarfed me and the island sucking centrifically and i noted 4 suicides in 9 months and knew it was not only me, something was deeply wrong with humanity. mystery is not easy. what rhyme possesses me. now those trees are mostly ghosts replaced by houses. the old petroglyphs lost to new foundations. it wasn't time. there's no going back.
still i dream of escape, hope dies hard, hope dies a thousand deaths and is still alive, and i thought i would die in my disheveled nest alone, and heart of mystery, i'm not alone, love found me, yet i dream of escape. with my sweetly entangled family.