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Sunday, October 22, 2006

Bearings Lost

Wake grasping the spars, sails, rigging

heaving upward entangled, struggling

winched to the top by the mind's heavy machine

leaving a shell gaped on desire's sharp-edged stones

surrounded by the wreckage of a plan

a design completed, realized, ruined.

I contemplate that disastrous course—charted by me

The winds that I ignored

That cold place where I founder and sink

To surface gasping and ashiver

With holes in the hull and every story

I ever told myself.

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