goals piled up 'til they block out the sun, black
a world's worth of wishes stacked on atlas' young back
a thousand words' worth of hopes leaving the tongues slack
but plain as day they're left looking at numb facts
the next plain day they'll start, tomorrow's perfect for pistol
shots marking starts of races won when nimble
they may not run if fickle, next day the sun will trickle
it's a whole new tomorrow to chase bum slung nickles
posted by adam @ 10:15 PM
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