yourself tight. How good can it get?
It seems there’s no effective ceiling.
Doing the work, minding the store,
remembering to be kind, if
you’re the sort that needs reminding
of such. Be omnivorously
creative, multi-genre, if possible; but,
above all, do the time, the time,
long time, do it on purpose.
Seriously, where’s it going?
Must I, ever, come down,
get dark again, cruel
to loved ones, thrash again.
If I must, still,
I will always return, always
look to light. I will
be good. I will be true.
I will return, if
I must crawl.
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