because while some truths lend themselves to equations, others are best described in verse

lost

like a child in a cornfield,
unable to see over the ears
but knowing he should be
among heads of lettuce.
or like Christmas in a warm November,
tottering with cogwheeled gait
toward the brink of a wrong season

i find myself
running headlong
into the shoulder of tomorrow,
sometimes forgetting how i got here,
even why i came.

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