poetry = nonsense
nonsense = meaninglessness
meaninglessness = void
void = nothingness
nothingness = spirit

Wooden toy
all I do falls short perhaps because I myself do not suffice she ought to have found herself a real man, in lieu of a wooden toy that longs for living she wears the long face of her disappointment of living with a wraith of living all the more alone for living with me ‘tis not what she had hoped for as for me, I never did know how to hope but the Norns see fit to weave together the paths of us frightened, uncertain wee creatures for reasons we'llnever understand that suit some grand plan, its tragedies, its divine ironies its irredeemable cruelty or so I feel it must be in the stone I’ve been given for a heart [26 XI 2020]
Copyright © 2011 Erick Calder
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