what’s more for poetry?
I called forth a haunt
It was June and air stuck
to my legs
in ways– liberating, vexing.
Escape wasn’t the answer,
the beige walls stretched
for miles.
There are pathways in here
that were boarded up long ago–
some of them are good ones.
Still as a hunted fowl,
my eyes close, my nose
discovers alleys of bravery,
center and speed that
laziness and despair buried.
This is an exercise in poetry,
Forward movement.
Alone for many moons,
I stood and vexed over the right pathways.
Open the wrong door,
and the panthers can’t even
save you.