forty eight

life rolls on
as the hills
over the hill over
the hump, at least

will i
be ever satisfied
with who i am or
what i have become?

or is life
supposed to be
forever a bitter
disappointment?

forty eight
is not quite fifty
too close, i would say
the fa(r)ther away the better

no running in
the other direction
but try to run
i must & i do

because fifty
is too close
to a conveniently
imagined halfway

 

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