a polyp on god’s left testicle

no matter how fast
i race across the city
i am always just behind
the truths i sought
to outrun
glaring at the other
drivers merrily making
headway on dreams
while i am always stuck
in the slow lane
flooded with diesel exhaust
swimming in tears
as frustration ravages
any sense of peace
dizzy from a lack of
anything at all
picking through the trash
for a fragment of the time
given to everyone else
sending paper airplanes
with my resignation
to flutter into
the trash strewn ditches
where i long to curl up
with the rest of the refuse
deemed unworthy
as the world chugs along


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