When the evening-taker comes

When the evening-taker comes
to start the day,
or you might call it your activities-space.
In my mind tunnel,
I fought over the guardianship
of my life-joy;
should I be more overt-happy
or a little more subdued?

Sometimes I think there
are nuances I don’t understand —
but I realize everyone has different
versions of those, different neuroses.

I start the electric-mobile; it takes me
home-far. Sometimes it’s needed
so that not everything is work.
I feel pangs in the stomach-vault
and vein-uprisings. Sometimes I
need a friend, a best-talker.

Maybe there’s a lot left to learn;
many leaves in the book still.
A tree to be climbed —
a view to be memorized.

(prompt from http://poetryprompts.tumblr.com/ — kennings)


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