Things are changing.

 

X is flourishing like an aroused blossom on moist rust.

Y is pecking on the cover of airtight daydreams with heaving busts.

Z  is pursuing refugee mermaids to gratify his wanton lust.

 

Everyone is happy. Moving.

Fast-

 

like the rotator blades seething on helicopter heads

and old-fashioned windmill churning on earth edges.

 

Everyone is running. Chasing.

 

But I am steady like a still clock thrust in time conundrum

stuck with a sticky glue on concrete drool

stagnant like a still eel in a revolving whirlpool.

 

I am jealous. I want to tilt, to the sunshine

gravitate towards factory made castles, in bowline.

Dislocate. Relocate.

It doesn’t matter.

 

I just want to budge-

evanesce stickums without smudge.

 

Shift. Yield.

Preferably to top.

Upshot.

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