Full on, the sweat
climbs bravely through the pores.
Flooring it now, but
where or when is the destination?
Have I no destiny to uphold?
Seeing with tattered eyes is one thing.
It’s quite another to breathe with them.
This mound of nervous excuses
appears to have grown independent
of anyone’s wishing, and I’m willing to bet
it won’t topple without serious effort.
Effective strategies are withheld at little cost.
This may come as a shock,
but it leaves as a surge.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 