Sunday, January 15, 2017


My memories, cemented
By spittle of fantasy,
Detritus of quotations,
And quicklime of amnesias,
Have formed the walls of a room,
A honeycomb around me.
I lie in trails I've laid down.

Creation is division.
Division is destruction.
Change is changing everything.
The mystery is the myth
That keeps emerging from this,
That there is, was, or could be
A whole that nothing divides.

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