When the Weight Is Over

recovered from my winning spree
heeled back to the ridge of brimming scree
tracing trepid steps, bracing dreaded depths
I forgot how long it’s been
since I had wanted to start again
since I had wanted it all to end
since I couldn’t remember when

it was a need-to-know: just how landslips flow
when the weight is over

now it’s all aboard the always bored
the man of the hour’s one of twenty-four
enough to occupy, until the next time
but there is comfort in the coach
that keeps you right on track
that keeps you trained to task
that holds you to the fact

it was a need-to-know: just how gaskets blow
when the weight is over

and like a city beat boombox
and like a city street buttagots
a rumpus is harmony to some

today, holly bloomed in city square
as the suits volleyed gloomy, pity stares
on a writer’s block, words get chopped
to form a death sentence, I breathe
as if all I needed was inspiration
as if all I had was not expiration
but if I’ve ever learned one lesson

it was a need-to-know: just how branches bow
when the weight is over


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