a few more meters

i have this dream

in which i kill every thing in the house:

the plants, the pets, the shadows.

 

i remain alive because i am outside the house,

 

outside myself, dictating death

to the weak and softening. i have been here before,

waxed inside this block of malice, shaking.

 

if every action starts with a thought, a seed –

i am growing a fucking garden.

 

i talk to myself in the early morning hours,

walk myself through the rituals:

washing, brushing, brewing, feeding.

 

eating has become so tiresome. if i could

just take one tiny pill and be done with it.

 

they say toward the end of a long run you get a sort of second wind,

a rushing of air, energy, purpose into your lungs, body, mind.

 

i’ve been running for a long time now; i’m starting to disbelieve in

second anything. maybe it’s like getting lost: if you had just gone

 

a few more meters you would have seen the sign.

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