the car is running and my bags are packed

each sleepless night
has its own flavor of
anxietal dissent
this one spent
one hundred and eighty
some odd miles from
my typical purgatory
as strange birds circle
having heard the tales
of the tired fool and
his endless font of
oft ignored idiocies
is a submerged suit of
surreal generalities
as i piece together
the breadcrumbs hidden
in all the questions
left unanswered and
the excuses never even
considered to be given

if you only get
that which you have given
it becomes clear
why rivers dry up
and the oceans recede
and when you find yourself
standing in the mud
wondering where the
waters went
forgetting how they
lapped your calves
only wanting to feel
as if they were worthy
of the attention
so easily given to
the sunshine hiding
behind the faux silver lingings
you’ve thrown it all
away in pursuit of
rather than seeing
all that lay at your feet

i am in this quiet
empty lot listening
to songs that strike
just off of center
and by the time the sun
bothers to rise
i will be long gone
my ticket stamped
with the disinterest
of tomorrows
that never come

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