The Poetry Marathon

Yes, I started late. I thought AM was PM and now, here I am. Am. Is. Being.

The same as you. Breathing and torn apart about it all. Because life goes on. The ferns grow greener, the snow melts into water, and trembles shake us awake.

It is a good start.

With each decision

to stay behind

or move ahead

or go with or without

we slide

a little to the left

or right

each time

a different path of sudden realties

like getting a massage on the way home

instead of going to the party

and your right contact lens falls out

which probably wouldn’t have happened had you gone to the party

instead.

The late night hours. Oh boy. The word, intense, comes to mind. This will be interesting.