Someone drew a line in the weeds
Scrounging ’bout…nose to the ground.
An instigating mime who derives history from deceit.
I, the lone observer…with spirit intact…but intentions incomplete.
Upright..the haggard and the concrete…all the bodies, all the cavities, all the blisters.
I could not muster a retreat.
To question…
‘my worse as better than my best’
…
To question…
‘the other side of the weeds.’
