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

Four Yous, Morning Rituals

I have such a big desire to carve a path for myself with regard to music, but I can’t seem to find a second step.

There are a thousand
first steps, the second eludes.
I wish I: wish.

Often I get used to things without realizing. Like this stool in my parents’ kitchen. The view is strange.

I eat breakfast here.
And watch birds and stumble some.
This stool is abyss.

Motivation is a strange thing. I don’t know if it’s a brain chemistry thing or what, but I’ve noticed that it sometimes takes me MONTHS to finally start doing something I decided MONTHS ago I should finally start doing.

Often, molasses
comes to mind. Momentum drags,
and my legs are weak.

I am so often tricked by the lure of new things. Grass is greener and all of that. Why is it that no matter how surely you know something, the validity of those feelings is always in question?

I am satisfied.
Though, shine and sparkle trick me.
I am happy here.

I am happy here. I am
happy here. I am happy.

Four Yous, Morning Rituals