It was a black day when whoever it was
After you, Thales, potted the first
Scrawny doubt of a cypress that towers now into the clouds
Over the west coast of the millennium
I live in.
I can almost believe
He meant no harm.
I can almost
Pity him
For having forever to pick
At the unlocked lock of the absurd
And for having to prove the zero
Ideas can lead to.
But how can you pity
A whistle at your back,
Wind
Through a root system forever
About to flower?
Already have an account? Log in
Join KR for even more to read.
Sign up for a free account and read any five pieces a month.
Previous
Next