Mopping the River

Done with deposits today;

I’m lending myself to anger.

Over who I am in my skin 

That grows, but never amounts,

Flows, but never arrives,

Like this river that I’m mopping.

 

I’m peeling my eyelids open,

Long after I shut the porch light off,

To avoid being more alone,

But, the weights from above 

Are heavy like the acoustics,

Of my favorite slow-sad raps,

I listen to when you ignore me.

 

So, I’m wishing I was exploring

Someone new who's trapped

In the same rhythm, too,

Who can indulge in sadness

As we try to mop up the river.`