Finding Out
Finding Out
a trial of confusion
ends up in broken bits
a blank unfolding mystery
when I think like this
not as an image
or vacuum to inhale
I'm holding in my mind
a revision never finished
notebooks slapping shut
doors banging open
a flood of steps out and down
a street of ignorance cold hard
immune
and then what do you think
my angels shook their heads
I began to smoke and drink
"deliver us" they said
instead I found oblivion
limited and weak
there's passion in the wanting
not finding is the link
wander through this open mess
with me until we sleep
floating helpless gone
beyond the moments that we keep
Copyright © Paul Trimble | Year Posted 2022
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