By Keith Blank
My unwise automatic head scroll works as such:
Chimeric I am not, so picture me torn against a widening sunset
Some scraped away unstrung bundle of nerves pecking at every direction
As that indulgence will be my primary focus,
I will determine myself a limited person
Not a grasp of all trades salt of the urge way
But limited to such notions as my insecurity allows
With inside myself mental foes,
I fall into surface level syntax
My lower brain works to distract from my failing call
As I keen for sustainable life
Sadly, without dedication to company,
With traits in every corner and none prioritized
How do I measure my second pass?
Moreso, how can I find the path?
If history is quick,
Luck knows I’ll resist at least this
Keith Blank is a California resident. He writes about memory, generation loss, dreams, and digital lives.