Composed of
beautiful mistakes, blots black as pupils
folded and mirrored
into Rorschach patterns, where we
accidentally find shapes in the discord.

If only we could fold this satin square
of time into complex mazes and
unending reflections,
until all that is visible are the
identical inked dots where
the heat of the asphalt in June is nestled.

I dig a hole in myself
and fill it with words

I like simple things.
Walking
Breathing
Talking
I don't like simple things that turn into compex things.
Sprinting
Hyperventilating
Arguing
I have a hard time focusing on simplicity when it all changes into complexity without warning.