Sometimes I forget that I started writing as this self-indulgent act.  Because sometimes I fear the self-indulgence of it.  Or I can’t get there for whatever reason.  Breakfast.  Friends.  Boredom.  Lunch.  Music. “Puttering.” Work.  Dinner.  Sleep.
But I keep trying.  Because sometimes there is that sentence that is perfect.  While the other times allow that sentence its perfection.  Much like life.

And so below are some more pieces.  Good and bad.  Loved and hated.  But self-indulgent.
—–

Apples

Part I. Beginnings
We’re trying to make sense of delicious apples
That are ripened by the sun
We try and slice them gently
But it’s a slice through flesh and bone
And we say if we can help
Then let us
But apples are crisper than lettuce,
And questions do more than follow

Part II. Endings
We’re trying to make sense of spoiled apples
That are darkened by the sun
We try to lift them gently
But it’s a task best left to god
Soft and brown to the touch
Because sometimes life
Is too much
And faith means more than follow
—–

If we want to fight then let us
If we want to fight
Then let us
Because the ship
We set upon us
Our eyes
Clouded and foggy
The compass doesn’t give
A sense of direction that matters
Because up and down
Needs a different tool
Lost in heights
We’re always climbing,
This sideways ladder
Which gets us nowhere.
But if we want to fight
Then let us.
—–

Trains
We are coming scared
Because the train is set upon us
Bearing no responsibility

And it’s running down the tracks
Faster and faster

And we stood in the tracks
Because the train we set upon us
Bearing our responsibility

And it’s running down the tracks
Faster and faster

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