Being Not Still

What an ironic being
never seen being
always walking, running, falling, climbing
into seats, leaned slightly back looking relaxed
a being speeding passed seventy whole miles an hour
chased by blue lights
glanced back eyes rolled over spite
taking delight not being right or safe
or home in one piece.

Being not still long enough to learn life as a lease
that must be returned.
Never realizing it was steering explosions
until being burned.

One thought on “Being Not Still

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