There’s that
word again. It
comes to divide us, match
make no one inside the perfect
parti.

Next year
I will break free.
No more five line stanza
straitjacket to dictate my lone
holler.

I don’t
want to use that
word dale to describe this
morning as it foreshadows our
decline.

When you
walk faster than
you run, you know you’ve reached
the plateau where the final word
is view.

It’s all
code for making
time meet space for a drink
when the sun begins to sink so
early.