we are all in the same pickle
we just don't all know it
slipping and sliding on
an ice covered pond
(this written in The heat of July)
with nothing to hold
on to
to keep from falling
all of us all arms
and legs flailing
as we try to keep
upright
and try not to cast
aspirations
on each other
if we could only put
one
if not both feet on
solid ground
we might be okay
if we could hold on
to each other
we might be as well
only we all insist
we can survive this
on our own
even as our gazes get fixed
on the shore each
finding some measure of salvation in the hands
held out
but fate can save
only one of us
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