Useless, this conversation, shrouded in mimed opinion.
Impaled words imposed by a right foot wishing to get ahead of itself.
Impoverished by motion held in fields of yonder and lore.
I could take each step with,
‘Do not go.’
Pray, to acquaintances,
‘You have not seen. What I have come to know.’
I get ahead of myself.
Stumbling into shafts of dimly lit mistakes.
rolling about in wooded carnage.
Illogically, pressing the accelerator.
Not the brakes.