I pull the weight Hand over hand To get to you Slung over my shoulder Curled toward the ground I lean in to my own strength The tips of my fingers pulsing The pressure of the rope Strangling any kind of purpose Used to move forward Feet and hands, hands and feet Scurrying, grasping and … Continue reading Quicksand – November 22, 2019
I quit. I’m done. No more of this, It’s over. I look up, But to the rear. Seeing the distance I’ve traveled, Hitting the gas. Tires howling To the next stop, Wherever that may be.