I would rather walk
than stop to talk
would rather let the cars roll past
their tires screeching, each to each
my hand out, reaching to beseech—
than stop to ask
I am stagnant
like water in a ditch beside the road
split by shores from where I might have flowed
a fragment
of a greater lake that never filled
a dream unlived is ever killed
I see myself upon that lake
my boat alone beneath the quiet night
I see the beaches bathed in lantern light
the shores, the others waiting over there
I reach out—stumble, only open air
I fear the frigid water's kiss
but I cannot go on like this
To dream forever going down
it would be easier to drown
by human voices in that lake
however long it takes to make
the last mistake
the last mistake
-x2A