Battering Ram, Pam OR There’s a Hole In Our Boat

I’m just a walloped
and bewildered barnacle
I am molasses.

I carry my own
burden like a globe. And yet;
a floating feather

I find there is no
choice in forward. Go, be pulled.
Be an awkward mess.

Sometimes it’s best to
get out of the rain and wash.
Rain stinks like earthworms.

It’s cloudy and there’s always
construction and food for thought.

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Battering Ram, Pam OR There’s a Hole In Our Boat

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