Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Path made clear - "Northwest passage," episode 1

Hands white-knuckled,
I've got to write myself
an ecstatic state,
fists stunned into a poem.
Clench the brightening aspiration;
the path has its limits,
slips back sometimes.
My patience is minor, my hurt clear,
only tolerant of need when
there is a second beauty
to its eye.

There's no need to come back
after this.

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