I wrote this poem years ago and just recently found it. I always find it intriguing, because somehow, a poem is like a flashback for me. I can see and hear and feel what made me write the poem even if those things haven’t crossed my mind in years. So, I hope you indulge my occasional flashback when I come across a relic from my previous years.

Random Sense

If I enjoy being lost does that mean I am not lost

I live in a tiny little yawn of a town that rests unnoticed by most on the side of the interstate

Trust yourself and explore where IT takes you what IT is doesn’t matter

The words together make a painting with no definition

Pancakes and chocolate cake with two-day-old coffee the breakfast of champions

Please do not tell me about the other girls you like I can only take so much.

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