waiting is hard as the days move around me
            in whirling whirlpools
            pulling me in and spinning
            me around to a spot
            different from where I stand now.

waiting is harder when my lips long
            to stay on yours longer
            than the brush you measure out to me
            in rations; I can get some wonder bread,
            but I sure can't get what I want.

waiting is even harder knowing that so much time
            will pass that not much will
            be unknown to discover,
            and without contact, I fear,
            less desirable traits may become intolerable.

waiting is what I have to do you say to me,
            so my horses are held-
            they are chomping at the bit
            and kicking the shit out of each other,
            but I have got them in some kind of harness.

I'll wait.

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