Isn’t it time, yet? Surely enough time has passed between the initial ignition And the presently mundane. But maybe the inspiration never occurred – No, that’s a lie. That’s an excuse. Around every corner, Conspicuous and dark there is that feeling. An inevitability, no matter how cliche A choice. That moment. To put the black pseudo-ink on a bright white page Or the pencil to the finely lined notebook, making that decision is fatalistic. There’s no going back to the safe space within your head. Memories flood through your mind It’s the Missouri River pushing you back And under the…

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Poetry