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by James L. Auerbach

A step, shy; how
brave are your toes when
the frigid feet

Turn, turn; you'll have
yours if you make
the decision, wish; all
it'll take is trust
to thrust, a baby
step for a
grown-ass reward. But
most are
left wanting, waiting,
grating. From here. To
there. All you
gotta give is assent
to ascend, a
yes, to
progress, to possess.
But regretful
death from hesitant
breath is one
step short.

You'll never toss your albatross without the right turn.

Now we test the
edge, the boundaries,
seal the
route you dreamed
about, the secretive
switch, your last
ditch. See me
get up in your
stuff, gettin'
uncomfortable enough
to make you sing. I
don't care
how you carry a tune;
I want air
raid sirens of

You'll never slip my grip without the right lubricant.

From east to west, the
tidal wave at highest crest;
Perpendicular demands of
equidistant commands, we expect
collision but see division.
Split the difference 'tween the
different, stark
contrast but equal bombast,
light the fuse by
how loudly you accuse.
Tell me again, how
many success
have the extinct

You won't write your epitaph in the aftermath without a companion.


Author's Note: Fair warning: This draft is rust-colored and -covered. But not bad for a decade's worth of literary neglect. Inspired by, and dedicated to, the incomparable works of Elizabeth Jill (and, by extension, her brother. Never learned dude's name.)

Posted on 09/05/2020
Copyright © 2020 James L. Auerbach

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 09/16/20 at 02:37 AM

I enjoyed your poem, James. Some pretty catchy writing throughout. Kudos!

Posted by Rob Littler on 09/16/20 at 08:32 AM

Sometimes its trust to thrust and then
Other times its thrust to trust

but when it comes to autobiographical tales of winning and good fortune, it is always better
to come

to the
quickly because it will all die

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