January 6, 2014


the detritus of the day
rubs into the brain
dirt ground into a wound
you rise through
  swimming to a surface, yet 
another surface

coming back

shed one skin, reach out, one hand
second hand, pull up, breathe
struggle against cramping
atrophied muscle, again and again

around each corner another street
rising to each surface, washed down
by yet another wave

it is what it is
the return –
everything both the same and different
you get up to fall
but you always fall forward 

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