in the realm of reality
the real people recognize
the windy, rough road
is riddled with bumps
and filled with holes
as fast as one can
round a bend
one can become sucked
into a hole, tire first
or spit out in to the air
or rolled over
at a speed too fast
for life
i've seen this realm
of the rough and real
i live there usually
but beg to break from it
from time to time
to slow to the pace
of being human
to ignore the time,
forget the dark,
sit out under the light of the moon
on the swing at the park
and do no thinking
just swing
sway in the real wind
upon the cold, metal seat
below me
comfortable in the fall,
night air
you were also
there.
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