Saturday, October 29, 2016

8796. AND THEN

I write things because I'm scared.
Difficulties abound and all my 
roadblocks have locks without 
keys. Being a single nothing
leaves a lot to be desired. So
punch it up, Chauncey, let's
try to make some time. I want
to see the sky flying by me
like a milkman's matinee, 
a weather-time in a long,
drawn, storm of vital 
wind. I write because
I'm scared, and then.

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