or perhaps complex yet smaller
a system instead of interconnections
that finding cracks in the surface
an inky pool of
things we cannot clean
now filling the void
we are bound to what
we can salvage
pulling artwork from our pockets
and flinging pictures into the air
hoping we can catch them
as they flutter to the ground
before they read the inky pool
i wrote this poem during a dark time in my life, but we have to remember times like that, right?
sometimes we find the strength to over come, right?