Sometimes

Sometimes

it’s a struggle

just to keep my eyes open

I feel anxiety’s weight

resting fixed

like a fishing lure

that’s been dropped

in the dead-center

of my thoughts


Sometimes

I hear the clock ticking

I feel the pages turning

Knowing that most of my days

are in the rear view

a fast-approaching horizon

through the windshield


One eye on the road

I fumble with the radio dial

musical snippets and static

trying to find that perfect

sequence of songs

before the ride ends

That’s the goal

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