2004/12/15

when we move through life like it is
smoke and glass and water
- anything but free air, fresh air, pure air -
and pick up scattered pieces of each other
and never wonder
about how we broke apart
instead always simply pressing them together
to make shapes
- round peg, square hole; sound familliar? -
that are assymetrical and while aesthetically pleasing
(in that subjective way gestalt loves)
we completely miss the point of it all.
at least in my opinion
which matters about as much as the dust
from the back of a wing
on a butterfly
who is heaving through summer
and tentatively sipping dew from a morning glory
because one drop on her leg will weigh her down enough
to prevent flight.

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