It all starts

in 20 minutes;

watching the clock

my breath, electric,

waiting for the spark,

the signal.

What will I write?

What will I discover

of myself,

heart-felt,

jagged,

soul-rending,

flat-lined,

whispering–

or screaming like a banshee.

I’ll know soon enough,

the clock taps cadence;

I march in step

for 24 miles

the finish draws near;

only one third an hour

to spill the words out,

over the dam

into the flow,

the great river

of thought,

ideas,

concepts,

misconceptions.

exhaustion tracks beside me,

sprinting ahead at times,

leaving me dusted,

road-worn,,

alone with my pillow.

But I’m making a comeback;

Barely time remains,

Sprint for 20 minutes more.

–until next year.