So many rooms in so many houses;
spaces within which the walls have waited,
as I played various roles
in minor dramas,
some of my own devising,
        some not,
    & most
being incomplete.

I often forget the lines & sometimes
those of my own design
are the ones most easily forgotten…

So many days wanting to stay away
from this mess,
        this reluctance;
a daydream
of purposeful action
        that abandons me
            with every movement
around the Sun.

The fragility of everything; entropy
    seemingly inevitable
            & us,
                the animal
that will not be itself,
capable of knowing this all;

when words emerge to seek
a story worthy of
    acknowledging that beneath
        every surface

something waits to be
either serendipitous or fucked up:

The choice is yours.

The choice is mine,
        & I
            cannot decide…

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