Wanderlust The itch comes upon me frequently. With great urgency my pulse beats a steady tattoo. I sit still - or try to - but nothing really works. I move here and there within the space I'm meant to but nothing really matters. I know I have responsibilities but they were not mine to choose. Each moment ticks by and with it I lie - it doesn't really matter. But can I, put my feet outside step out to an other side that will fit my outsized frame? Yet now, behind these bars I look longingly, desperately, and try to lift these weary feet.