There are those days, when
It's like a dream overslept.
The wires wind around
But don't connect.
The news is deja vu,
Even though the facts are all around.
And you look away from the way
People look at you.

You sit with folded hands
Hoping to go unnoticed
By those passersby.
You search the middle air
Intense to be unfound.
You'd go back to bed, but
That's where it all began:
Feet wouldn't move
When you ran.

01/11/2006

Posted on 01/12/2006
Copyright © 2026 W. Mahlon Purdin