Running in the Muck

Dawdling, dwelling, anticipation of getting there from here.

But, maybe, it is a mindset of a peculiar, kind.

A flightless bird sunken to the earth.

Entities much greater than a world of…absurd.

Yearnings from up on high.

And, lonesome low.

Footsteps muddled hysterically running about in the muck.

Never stopping until the earth pulls herself up.

Only to cease upon the sodden mirth bellowing from indentations down below.

murk 1

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