The city's gears are grinding
talk about my timing,
I'm another poet in a generation lost.
My body keeps climbing
though the unseen binding,
I hope to leave before the first frost.
Love's sweet destruction
is but an interruption,
I want to be electricity racing in the sky,
but my veiled resolve
immediately dissolves
presumed strength becomes my only disguise.
A moment's distraction
can give traction
to events never put into motion.
Papers moved
and pages smoothed,
all intentions roam back to the ocean.
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