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|Remission: Stepping Out|
Tonight, what’s on the mind,
other than the rain blowing over
future lovers and many others,
once descending as a carol,
now sighing in the weight
of solemn hymns in the streets?
Today, what’s the story;
what’s the chance
of conquering four walls,
four plain, white slabs
dividing dreams and reality,
separating inhibitions from the ink
that feeds them eternally?
Tomorrow, forget the dead weight
buoyed by the clusters obstructing
a blank slate;
tomorrow, cultivate the beauty
of erasing the dead-end roads
4:00am, and the insomniac
tethered by nocturnal ambitions
is in need of connection and fulfillment
only to step inward to grace the ether
with no trace of either.
The next day,
I'm only jumping the gun again
with nerve and a pent-up hell,
firing blanks at a confusing mist,
obsessing over every near-miss.
Tonight, what’s on my mind,
other than the resolution of tomorrow
as tonight’s the focus, the interest;
today, what’s the story;
what’s the chance of discarding anxiety,
flesh bent against the blankets
As I lean into the punches?
|good poem (:|
|bump bc 'tis a good poem|
|yeah div's got bars|