i will write myself through this and emerge slightly battered, exhausted, on the other side. or i will crawl through it on my belly like a soldier, smearing mud down my front, wishing i could
give up. just sleep in the mud. just sleep

inching like the living dead toward a blurry dawn with indistinct features; could be a grimace, could be a smile. could be another day at the park. ocean park, its water always the color of the reflected sky. silver sleeping with eyes closed beneath its dense blanket of fog.

perspective is a telescope and i have to jam myself into its center, bones and all, stay forever. make a moment of clarity expand to encompass all time. like a bird in the estuary, diving beneath the surface and then returning to the light. so, a moment of wet and cold.

it's just a moment of wet and cold. the sun'll dry you right off