I am neither
Infallible, nor
Inflexible, and
This constant clearing of air
Seems to fall to me.

It is like hitting
Narrative beats:
My progress feels inevitable,
As I am swept along in
The current of a story
From another’s pen.

I tumble along,
Unknown to the narrator,
Unseen by the readers.
I present blandly one sided in this light,
My most thriving facets hidden
By murky ignorance.

All I get is yet another
False moon, but still
My dusty wings spread,
And I take off on the same old
Futile flight, my tired trajectory
Predetermined by weariness.

Redemption could lie in a previous draft,
Scribbled in the margins,
If not between the lines.
A concession edited out for concision.

But an unwanted truth can never
Prevail over a convenient lie,
And so I am left to survey it all
From inglorious isolation,
Excoriating words flooding in
Until I am finally submerged.

11/05/2019

Author's Note: My first collaborative piece for a while. I'd forgotten how collaboration with another writer opens my creativity to different words. Thank you, Anita. :)

Posted on 12/28/2019
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