There’s a merging of shadows

around the backside of me, positioning

to break out and pass to the front with

quick steps and nervous breaths. Ships

of night line up for the challenge of dreams.

Topsails strain at the strength of speed while

battling cold steel overcasts attempting to

slow the progress forged in the foundries

of thought.


Each day is an empty space waiting for

words to create motion and spin; the

travel we hold in check is the prisoner

fighting to be released.


Knowledge is comfort. Common sense

is a gift.


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