POEM FOR MONDAY EVENING.
How the world has sped up,
what an effort to go with it.
so, somehow i slow down without encountering slowdowns while capturing the words i need.
Other times, I'm a racehorse ahead of myself, leading an almost visible pack.
There are some here to cheer or to chastise.
their ideas are flung into the wayside along with other tunes.
their musics are synthetic-intellectual.
Now there is nothing escapes my gaze.
striding through a cafe or a suburban neighborhood with my dog, i am invisible.
and, i have absconded with the night.
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