half the year
is
in the can like
a dead fish wrapped
in yesterdays news.
how is it possible?
the wheels of time
are on
greased rails
it seems, going down hill,
speeding ever closer
to some end.
i'm hanging on to
the straps,
knees bent, eyes shut,
waiting
to get out of the tunnel
and around
the bend.
I do see a light.
and sigh. I see there's
still time,
still track, still fire
in the engine.
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