what is the range
of these ripples
that set forth as
i skip across life's lake.
unseen to me,
upon what shores
will wash my
wave bound wake.

in the soup
vegetable is meat
as meat is vegetable.
such are we
in this world
dripping like mucus.
endless fluid contact,
breathing the same
air that has been
breathed for millenia.

slowly releasing our pigment
into the swirl of things,
this spin-art world.
everybody's got their own color
and we can't help but mix them.

like a tube of paint
without a top
dropped in a bucket.
the living color erupts,
it permeates the outside.

dissipates but never disappears.

like blood in the sink
swirling with substance,
vibrant and brilliant.

the thin stretch of life
dissolves slowly to clear.
becoming, not nothing,
but less of something
and part of more.

goes down the drain,
but where from there?