A dull ache keeps my eyes staring

at the ceiling

It emanates from the center

of my brain,

from the traffic jams of that 26-lane highway

linking

and

separating

my hemispheres.

 

It’s always at night,

or maybe that’s when I notice it.

 

I can’t help but liken it

to the dull ache in my legs as a boy.

My bones

stretching

and

lengthening

like steel rods of taffy,

as I lay wide-awake, softly groaning.

It was always at night, too.

 

If I lay still enough,

the dull ache might go away.

It usually worked for my legs.

 

But I know such thinking is wishful at best.

 

Perhaps it’s not pain,

at least the sort to be fought and avoided.

Rather, pain like

the corrosive blood my heart pumps at a finish line.

Like

life’s whispered promise.

 

Constructive, not destructive…

 

Perhaps something is being built.

Perhaps something is growing.

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