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You know so little of me,
so now advise and consent,
your knowing in advance,
a midfielder from another century,
closer to my end,
nearer my god,
than thee

simple ridiculous
being (n)at this point,
last few chapters,
on the human dual continuums^

of lost and found,
junctured, forked,
needy of deciding,
but that ******* fate
won't let you off the hook,
ever

~
once, a pumping artery
became but modest vein,
now reductio ad absurdum
to a tiny capillary,
to do the work
of two grown man
~
once again,
found myself reincarnated,
as a work in progress,
without the necessary and the  insufficient
time to make real headway,
no time left for true progression,
hoping to squeeze one more solution
from this man's equation
~
my poor mind
is my river,
so mind
the sailing craft called poetry,
a small ketch to keep moi afloat,
desperate avoiding the backwash wakes
of larger enemy ships of state,
who gladly try to drown me
for pleasure

~
poetry keeps me afloat,
like me, part of me, all of me,
always a work in progress
until not
^ The two-factor theory (also known as Herzberg's motivation-hygiene theory and dual-factor theory) states that there are certain factors in the workplace that cause job satisfaction, while a separate set of factors causes dissatisfaction. It was developed by psychologist Frederick Herzberg, who theorized that job satisfaction and job dissatisfaction act independently of each other.

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Two-factor_theory

never complain, never explain, just write down your poetry...
he holds his head up
after a bob
the baby at his chest
on the couch
legs stretched out straight
baby lying flat downwards
no TV on No one else around

and we caught him
taking a cat nap

the stay at home dad
with one in the bed and one
in his arms
 Jul 2015 Josiah Wilson
NV
COME ON.
LET THE WRITERS BREAK THEIR WRISTS AND BLEED THEIR FINGERS DRY OVER SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T GIVE A **** ABOUT THEM
I'll probably start my night on here
Reading these words
Right here on hellopoetry
Then around 2 am I'll be too tired
And the words will blur
And make no sense

Next I will replay
Everything I did that day
And criticize it
What did I do wrong?
How many mistakes did I make today?

I may fall asleep
Stay that way maybe an hour
Maximum

Then I'll have a nightmare
Wake up tears streaming down my face
I'll probably sneak out then
Just to get away

Then I'll wait till morning
The images playing again and again
Through my mind

And when morning finally comes
And my mother asks me,
"How did you sleep?"
I'll smile answer,
"I slept fine"
Not a poem, but this is how most of my nights go

The title of this poem sounds kinda weird though...
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