cross it out. see? that lost dream,
that tattered seam sky. there’s a
-nother why we’ve tossed aside.
got an eraser? you’ll find its dust
can thrust the worst from will and
whim and wander. ponder this:
some algorithm of anger.
some unit of measurement that stings.
some thing that means more,
or less, or no
-thing at all. let’s get some small
sense of exponential balance,
some angled trace that makes
all these small steps
add up to
let’s find our centers;
that sense that marks
the spot of soul,