I see the stars shining off their own rewards.
I see the glimmers, endless with hope, lost in space.

Within me a hunger grows out of line.
And in my mind, I travel, but, with a different face.

There no longer exists a perfectionist’s heart,
Nor a perpetual run with a disciplinary ancient art.

But a feeling, unknowable, quite like a stranger’s hand.
A devastation, trembles my soul, of a target perhaps missed.

Of a sun wiped away off the surface without a plan.
A clenched fist, I persist, but what if I’m on a waiting list?



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