I’ll plunge feet first
into the depths of
winter just to feel
the satisfaction of
the edge.
The dulled nerves
of age have me
to sensations
I once found
Now, I seek the
ones that cut
right through.
This all ends.
Our deep obsessions
and manicured lawns
and doing the “right” thing –
or not –
it crashes down in a heap
of time burned too fast
by bright screens
and races to the false finish,
an artificial end
where we have it all,
except we never do
(and we can’t).
That’s the catch.
But here we go,
when it should be
a marathon.
Standing apart
when we should
hold each other’s
hands and
march against
this idea we
should be running
at all.