What would I pack,
      if I only had moments?

Each       instant a panoply of choices,
laboring through nightmarish

voices and priority schemes,
could I arrive at what I need? Yes.      Them.

But, God, would I even remember
to take       water for my toddler?

What comforts would I forsake for my son?
What       curses would I utter

in those       desperate, teflon seconds
as the mystery of every       unforeseen heartbreak

pressed in at the speed of terminal velocity?
Less time than I have to read this:


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