I had an anxiety attack to the tune of “Dust in the Wind”

the sky is too open

with no confessor to be found;

the cravings multiply:

flannel on an autumn porch

mouths too busy to talk

silence with no judgement

boots or books pushing onward

to a darkened view of an angel

back-alley revelation

fragments of flesh that don’t fit

but want to be held together

and (oh god!) be loved

the feeling of generous friction

where stars used to be found –

don’t let the world awaken yet

quiet spaces in the forest

lists of things to remember

keep. pressing. buttons.

a lifetime of foolish choices

based on inward frenzy

and a faraway call for peace


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