I find peace
in wrapped hands
and sweat in my eyes,
in the knowing grimmace and
bent back, hands on thighs,
of my neighbor, for a split
second of eye contact,
a too hot room,
leather bags popping
mix tape pumping,
burpees and planks,
pushups and
the bell ringing.
No matter what type of day,
week, year, life, 
it drops the weight,
drains the mud,
I move
non-stop, through
the ache and burning lungs,
and time matters only
3 minutes at a time,
for an hour
of lightning streaked

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More days just like today.

More friends like the handful I keep close, and the score I keep a bit farther out.

More time to spend in these pursuits that have earned my time.

More returns, deserved or not.

More memories that conjur laughs.

More doors, public, private, and secret.

More pain in my muscles, more sleeping it away.

More family, home, and community.

More patience to appreciate all these “mores”.

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The day spiders came crawling
out of my veins,
a processional
forming ranks that spelled
words and phrases
in a pulsing mass of instinct
and venom and senses beyond
That day I decided to be born
into the world, not whole,
but everywhere alive.

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Damocles, I welcome your seat

and the pounding in your chest.

I will not beg Dionysius for


This blade is far sharper,

its edges more real

than echoes cast by the

wailing shades, chanting in the

dying groves.

I am not damned by this position,

but empowered by the thought

of being damnable at all.

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Each fraction of the wheel’s rim
allowed its turn, in turn,
communion with the earth

Each lesson and lesion applied
to flesh in its moment, regardless
of the fabric’s wllingness to endure the abrasion

Slow sowing,
slow reaping,
each in season.

My mind’s throttle seems unfamiliar
with a paced discovery, floating ascension
or sinking decline, yet curiously engaged

Simply, I send the letters and the words,
I speak them with integrity to the needs,
and I sift through the echoes, panning patiently for silver

Slow filling,
slow spilling,
each in measure.

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