Fugitives

In our collective fall from grace
we collected the last parts of our dignity
we strapped them to our bodies and
erupted from the buses, a mass of weeds
growing without memories
We are the collective idiots, praising
one another with "bless yous" and "thank-
yous"
None asked for more than what was
necessary.
Necessary? We crossed a thousand miles
from the sky to the river to the mesosphere
to get to happiness.
Let's talk about necessary.
Let's talk about it all.
We're lost in what we maintain is nirvana and
we're waiting until something better comes
along
Until then we're along for the collective bus ride.