my addiction: squeezing yet-some benefit
out of the triple-check, the sixth-over
my crime: premeditated overkill, which
murders any courage i have left, captures
me in the straitjacket of comfort-at-all-costs
i’d certainly go insane without my
backpack of just-in-
cases and you-never-knows (packed
and repacked four times – organized and
cataloged), my crutch
which has retarded my progress, sent me
stumbling into the chasm of procrastination, of fear
and i can’t free myself until i
realize: adventure never
comes to the prepared; you must
go out to meet it