My obsession with self awareness

isn’t bright enough to light up the dark room

I seem to be locked in.

Wait

there is no key.

because

there’s no keyhole

no one can see in

except through this little window

[here]: hello.

But the rarity of clarity

is somewhat slight

and far between.

 

I once thought

(it arrived in my head

again

yesterday)

I had to paint a certain way

and not to let my art hang crookedly

unless by design

so that others felt comfortable

by its quirky display.

The gallery you see as me

is just the front room

attached

to a speakeasy.

Do you know the code

to get in

all the syllables

to say?

 

I sat behind the wheel

of my car tonight

as it slid down an icy hill

and remembered for a second

the Chicago snow as a storm raged

over the Great lake.

I had stepped onto pavement

with running shoes too tight

because of much-needed wool socks

and my heart had pounded my chest,

my feet had pounded the ground,

I had pounded out any feelings:

I, too, must be lost.

I thought

as I slowed to a stop:

Are we all living within

the sidewalk cracks?

Sometimes birthing

green life

and sometimes we catch it

with our toe

only to trip

and fall.

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