I expect too much of time
in the little I have left.
I am a dinosaur,
and it,
the pummeling to come.

I wait for its whoosh to confound me;
the bending skyward of my neck;
the brevity of my innocence;
my un-vocal surrender.

A wounded animal,
contorted by such clarity,
confronted
by my lack of ease
as I awkwardly live to expire.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 29 November, 2017