Days weeks years morph into triumphant moments,
if you squint.
Turning life literal specifics upside around
emerges memories of triumphs.
They squeeze past the blockades of membrane
like mice running away, anyway.
Delivering triumphs to the conscious
requires a scheme.
Why don’t you deliver regularly, like eating,
unconsciously like squinting?
Excuse yourself to go triumph;
shaking off the burdens, the weights, the people, hanging.
Trash the manipulators; those who hold back triumphs
simply by their presence.
Go meek go bold go wide-eyed
stumbling determinedly to an edge.
Triumph, so in later days weeks years
when you squint, you’ll see them