Saturday, May 4, 2024


Insubstantial futility,
Ephemeral absurdity,

A puff of vapor you exhaled
To haul back in your lungs again,

All flocks of molecules of wind
Circling around this rock since when,

Anything worth calling wisdom
Worries recycled worrying.

What you do with the air you breathe
Matters less than what the air will

Disassemble and distribute
Throughout the daily circular

That like all news compiles and piles
Without arriving anywhere.

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