You’re fried, you’re late, you’re last

only an hour behind, don’t wait! there’s still a chance

to step on your words, and dash

 

to close the distance between where you are and where the goal starts

 

24-hours worth of..

 

spontaneous, uncertain, sweat-causing half vocabulary

that bump around in that skull of yours, like a visual masterpiece

turned into lumpy soup

 

Daring you, to grab, to rinse, to unfold, and fit the pieces back the way you saw them

 

stepping on your words, like money dropped on the ground

 

you’re fried because you stayed up way to late, and now you’re last

this isn’t new

but what is news is that epiphany that re-emerges that I guess you re-remember every time this happens

 

yeah you’re last

but only to yourself

like in other parts of life, the other participants don’t matter

as long as you understand that the goal, and where it starts

will always be with the person you see your self wanting to be

 

so get up, get your engine running, you set a goal for today

 

24 poems in 24 hours, so what you’re a little late

 

arise, create, expand