i was at the doctor
4 my asthma
miasma,
and im staring down
at this rubber mat…
rubber mat, what do u say?
“i am a mat of recycled rubber,
i get mixed,
things cling,
i have rings of circles of
yellow spots, what had been;
i’m part of the plan,
i look good.”
the universe is the,
another prior cluster of, a leftover of, is
without structure: forms structured
now trying to get back
to the original
cathedral picture, before it was ignited,
before it went ‘bang’. when,
really, it too existed as a melody component:
atom opening, draining down
what i want to say now. motion is the shape
of time. the imperfection
of is obvious: cosmos of a broken god.
we can’t go back.
w…
poetryandpoet 