Untied shoes
A head full of booze
and unprovoked memories of a grandparent dead over 15 years.
None of it invited but nonetheless
all present.
Moving fast.
Rushing from one thing to the next.
Rushing through everything.
Binging on the false hope that what's next will inevitably be better than whatever is now.
Rushing past everything until reason put a pin in the unsettling remorse that only a Saturday in April can bring.
What a show.
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"Rushing past everything until reason put a pin in the unsettling remorse that only a Saturday in April can bring." Yes. *
*
Good poem!
yes. Not sure you need the last line. But this is very good.
Thanks all. Any ideas of where I could try to get this published would be greatly appreciated.