Go // Flurry

Organized flurry of alphabet gathers
in a fog and I cannot seem to
order them into snowflakes and
have them dance, following the
flicker from a candle, and land lost and
frostbitten to melt into puddles
collecting consciousness.

Fear folds around me
suffocating the saving rays of a
newborn nebula.

Gut says "Go!" and I
race towards infinity to

lie in the warmth of
neonatal nonsense.

What is next in this
linearly-negative space? Swallow self into
pure potential, and the
fortitude for follow-through
finds my feet, stabilizing
recurring sabotage attempts sinned in a
sad effort to fulfill an
unknown penance.

Gone are the times when a gloze-over-getaway can be acceptable gain.