2003 Poetry

my throat is parching

couldn't release my whoop

and my feet, they're nailed

to where I stood

yet, a voice insists

that I should run

and my gut is forcing

my voice to come out

after a few minutes

the warmth circled back

a moment of draftiness

it was all too clear and real

or it seemed like it?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

written 8/20/03

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