Who makes the call
on my calling in this life
worth living only if
I can do this
one thing.
Who ultimately boils down
the milk to my day
and churns the subjective to
that of object
and matters of fact
that we will never be privy to
but you,
you might be.
If your name is loud enough
and its meaning adored
enough then you might be able
to tell me if I am indeed
enough.
Would you tell me that
this tiny hinting
inkling of a notion was
just a ruse, a whole lot
of commotion for nothing,
and I’m to move on
with a thank you
and a handshake.
That my convicted hope
was poorly placed in
amongst the gin
and the dope
and it went to my head
but got lost on the way,
and there it stays
as stubborn as stubborn
can be, which for me
is impressive.
I will not stop running
unless you shoot at my feet
and then I might mistake
it for succor.
Do the the right, the kind
the business minded thing.
Business Minded
On Tuesdays 