indecision, perfection, treadmills

poetry

i just can’t make it
twiddling my thumbs all the day long
like a dopamine fiend
picking up boulders and putting them
back down like a modern day
sisyphus, or something.
thinking
re-thinking
doing and then
un-doing
stopping
starting
stopping again,
to start, one
last final time
(this time
i’ll make it
right)
and i am going to rip these
cement feet right off if
i can’t go see the sunset
tonight.