no más mañanas

i had a bad
habit of putting
things off
telling myself
i would get to
them tomorrow
dreams and aspirations
cast aside
waiting on a
nebulous tomorrow
that kever seemed
to come

there was an
infinite number of
tomorrows in a
bucket by the door
certainly there was
no reason to rush
but now when i
grab for another
i find i can see
the bottom

now i strive to
do today what is
not assured for
those tomorrows
an urgency in
constant streams
of etching dream
into phonetics

on the days when
the words won’t
unblock my throat
the frustration
builds pressure
in my mechanical heart
i fear i may
blow a gasket
leaking pitch into
the organs of
internal distress
reaching for
another tomorrow
but finding
only a list of things
left unaccomplished

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