as
if my mind were some vast
plain
of tall weeds and burly thickets;
as
if I’m unable to hack any new paths.
I
know I’ll need to navigate
to
the soft moss and open clearings;
others
will be looking to me for strength soon.
But
still I find myself stumbling
in
a bleak-beer haze,
legs
tired from circling;
eyes
sore from back-doubling;
machete
blunt from allowing
problems
to grow through once more.
Tomas Bird - Apple Fire 2018
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