My thought-grains pile and avalanche
In patterns like a wind-warmed branch
They jump like sand fleas on the beach
A single thought seems out of reach
A pomegranate beckons breeds
A lust for flesh its wanton seeds
An apple no a blueberry
I’m climbing in a cherry tree
With nothing left too much to do
My toddler son brings me his shoe
I’m ignorant and know too much
I’m racing fast and hold a crutch
So many little things obsess
My middle middles more or less
And but a few things looming large
I don’t know what I’d even charge
Myself to do with what I know
I watch my little children grow
My ocean laps up on the sand
My mind won’t work upon demand
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