Amorphous
ambiguity,
coalescing coherently,
in a
bubbling brew,
to cool on a
sill,
eventually hardening,
becoming,
me.
A glittering
blob, a glob,
a speck of a
speck
of dust’s
dust,
fluttering
on a
summer wind,
over
crashing seas named
Prologue and
Epilogue.
Swirled about in whirls
with other parts of me,
undefined,
immeasurable
and
uncounted with delights
and
disappointments,
all made for
the me
I’m yet to
be.
Raw and un-carved,
twitching sinew exposed,
to the heat,
the coolness,
the joys of
the winds and
the wrath of
gray skies.
Yet to be
mounted, drawn and
made whole
by time.
A mass of
matter, made to
matter, as a
matter of course,
to be filled
and unfilled, broken
and remade,
in shards, in piles,
in landfills
of experience,
born every day
in the me-ness
of self.
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