Monday, December 10, 2007

Poem I found cleaning my room tonight, written in 1998 I think

Winding down wisdoms gravel road
not much is apparent
focus is easily lost
how did I pick this car?
this road?
this day?
Do I actually get somewhere?
Or just wake up again, late for work
Shit, that was close, what was that deer thinking?
The course dusty gravel makes dodging animals difficult
I should have taken that left on experience
I think it was paved.

I dangle my thoughts on a line
and cast them into the wake
the undertow will carry me back
until I am no longer gone.

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