Conscripted

A Poem

Forced onto a narrow twilit road requisite roadkill, a Pollock for the traveler

I’m making mistakes but then I turn around and everything is erased like chasing the beer after it’s left the bottle

Sunlight scrabbles in tries to make up for the -45 weather getting shot with a million stabs of freezing just setting foot outside your door

I’m not doomed, anymore than you are but we’re taking a long time in this period of repose social reclusion

I step back from all the messes try counting on my fingers to establish a world still outside

Outside where the raving lunatics keep on making their imprints in the space I’m trying to occupy

Lost and lusting for that next time when the sun doesn’t hurt when it comes for the scribbles that make for a bit of the peace