Tuesday, December 5, 2023



All this after hours effort

Nothing more than a blind burrowing

Each line the tip of a drill

Boring right through myself

If I’m honest I’m anxious

Breaking though and finding out

What’s waiting on the other side  

Each millimeter of advance

Is a new kind of oddness

That someday I’ll recall

With sad nostalgic fondness.

It’s wearying, all this work.

I take more breaks.

Strangely, it doesn’t hurt.

It gets terribly quiet when I rest.

At this depth, I can’t hear a thing

No audible evidence of breathing 

Even thoughts are distant whispers 

I start to get a certain feeling

That where I’m heading

Is the same place I came from 

I only wonder what happened

To all the dirt


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