The days flow like a slow moving stream
barely undistinguished from one
another I know I’m headed for death
still I want to do certain things
shake up these bones
have memories new ones
I’m making new
goals and old ones
rising from bed, words
written with care in this small notebook
counting syllables next may come meter,
alliteration, maybe rhyme, slanted,
assay a crucible of ideas the crux of this day.
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