panic

wondering if the pass will come
(don’t they all? … so far it’s true)
heart valve clamoring yammering,
hammering fluttering,
spasming uncontrollable,
like an eye twitch but far more
uncomfortable
if not more neon sign
noticeable
to passersby.

craving quiet time in space
wishing for air beyond this task,
for confrontation behind me
but,
cheeky,
I want even more
to see this millstone float away,
up and away carried by work well done.

ah if only I could offer such labor
loosely,
lightly,
with easy repose.

This is not my current state of mind — neither the towering task nor the panic — but it’s one I know well. For some reason that knowing birthed a poem a few weeks ago, and that poem demanded to be finished tonight.

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