iniquities

it's the winter i think

that drives me to insanity

where all the silent sureness

gets muddled in the chaos

not yet turned to order

but perhaps not far away

and my clinging is rewarded

with terrifying side-eyed glances

from the women walking their dogs on the street

but here, in my iniquities

i hold to that which holds me

and run from that which chases me

and grieve that which forgets me

and draw another breath

for there isn't much else to do

but take the step in front of me

although it leads to nowhere

where all the world is waiting

for something that has finished

for moments unrelentingly 

left behind

there in pangaea I will sit

a stubborn-minded dualist

only narrowly convinced

I'll make it through the day

and continue on my way