15.03.23

10:34

JOURNAL

it's a bust, however i'll keep trying, looking, loving

when the hurricane shutters break, and wet gusts
fill the house, i won't be there, i will be elsewhere

i don't want to go back, i'd prefer a house,
in the bayou, or somewhere similar

it is a miracle to continue, and i am sad
sad to not have more substance
to rap poetic about,
what shall i write?
impressionistic trivialities
perspectives of modern life
as an acid freak,
as a nearsighted defect

'the application' is a scourge,
shall i be free of it?

there are decade old letters
where my mind wrestles
with the future, pleading
that my timed self
escapes a trap

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