If I knew, I wouldn’t write poetry

this thing, inside, that makes us do the things we do,

what is it called again?

do we call it instinct?

the will to live?

Is this how we perpetuate the species?

what if you are like me?

what if you like the same thing that you already are?

what if, like me, you prefered the same ol’ thing with the same ol’ ending?

 

a flash

a splash

a glimmer into that once forgotten

a dip into that fruitless endeavor for one more try

for one more go

into that foregone conclusio

fishify

Writer of short fiction, poetry, and editorials.

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