The Minor Steps of Existence
There are footnotes on this broken bridge— legions of paralysis inkscaped from the droughts of servitude, like dismissive dilations dancing atop the dreary recalibrations of a cracked, yet tethered, dogma. I stoop and scoop in looping high. Head just shy of a mounted celebration. The hesitation is exuberant in its weariness— two steps forward (A race of wherewithal from the back.) I've gotten off track. What I'd give for time on a wrack, extending... There are footnotes on this broken bridge where crosses esteem my lope haunting.
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