The season flits back and forth, sunny afternoons giving way to freezing nights, every day you dress wrong. I wake in shivers or sweats.
Each light day must - it seems - be followed by one with the weight of the universe on your shoulders. You stare into the future and ask again how one is meant to live an entire life. Just that. Do people have the answer, and I am ignorant? The flowerbeds along the river are bursting now, tickling with life and waiting for the signal. I count the serotonin in my piggybank.
Wonder how to stretch it
decades still
and coming up
emptyhanded.
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