autofocus

one day you find yourself
sitting in the circle
of every choice
you’ve ever made

the edges are a bit fuzzy
and there’s a ten foot tall labyrinth
between you and center

the only way back
is to eat your way through
the blue bowl
of continuous sky

.

.

.

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

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