wWho knows? www31 March 2009

You join the litter of dead ideas around my feet
each perfect box born empty to the sky
except for the wasted sperm of a dream
already lost in the surf of fractional entity,
ringing with waste and aborted dilemma
trickling away like forgotten birds, or
loosely seasoned buds that drain on
the papers and nevers of misconception,
always dividing and diminishing
and shredding the limits of my fingers