Friday, February 04, 2005

Hand Me a Towel

Run away thoughts race
through my mind

Not from
family and friends
But to
The next adventure,
the new idea.

Yet the only pavement pounded
is treadmill like in its routine
Fears of stumbling
still securing my hands and feet
to that which is sure.

I refuse to release.

"Someday soon"
I tell myself
As I sweat through the too familiar
And only
Imagine the idea
Of the not-yet-to-be.

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