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
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