Totems

The photo of us in the woods,

then the blurry-blue expanse beyond it.

Suddenly my tongue feels bitter.

The half-dreams hang overhead,

the only thing I want is time.

I’m standing before I realize it.

.

The drive.

.

What rocks cross my soles

in my tread to make time.

I wonder what else they’ve felt.

What souls fill this sidewalk

our finish lines aligned.

I stir through the mass like water.

Class feeds thought as fodder.

.

The drive.

.

How hot tomato soup tastes

with my skin shrouded by fibers.

I love this episode.

How a decaf brew smells

even richer to a rhythm.

The expanse sits stiller than ever.

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