Murk

I never listen so the best I do
is watch sometimes when I am
not lost in investments of my eyes.
Blades of grass bent at ninety degree
angles by the others waiting
restlessly to meet up and discuss
where they’ve been going.

It doesn’t matter how you hold
the steering wheel as long as
all your will is in control of it.
Sometimes you have to start
from scratch again which makes
the hardest part encountering
what’s left.

Bird bones break easily
but their wingspans sometimes
make them seem invincible.
Although, a hard throw with the right stone
is the only thing we’ve ever really needed.

I aim at what I think is good for me
like this winter coat and dying tree
I’ve been searching for
now seven hundred miles.

A kind of solid floor to stand on
made of broken tiles molded back together
by whatever found it lurking
in the murkiness of all there ever was.

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