(Nonsensical words… that in the end, may make some sense.)
i hate
that
i’m here
i can’t walk away
i swallow words
regurgitate back
print them on paper
smash each crack
success seems close
the walk so long
i buckle under
your outstretched arm
the finger
the trigger
the deadline looms
your solution
to watch cartoons
the old days were better
the future glooms
i made a bed
with barely room
to pardon friends,
toast another drink
it is Friday night
i often think.
seasons: a poetic journey 