Dread,
excitement,
like the
adventurer,
or the train-hopper;
that sleep-deprived,
hold-open-one-eye,
I-need-a-warm-bed-and-then-cof­fee
feeling.
Used to being given just enough rope to dance the gallows.
The textile burn is nostalgia.
Makes it easy to forget.

Surreal
and
serene.

Maladies are not cast about like celebration announcements
and apologies are not confetti.
The bribe cannot be taken.
No longer a burdened beast, the bit and reign are testament under foot.
There was no choice.
There's left none now.

Sinew gripping bone,
I fly into the storm.