I'm late, per usual
(I'm anxious,
yet not worried).

Concrete lines combine
to form
shapes, polygons,
and
anything you want them to be.

I want to help and mend
and repair

but

poison lies where kindness
stops despair.


it goes on.
The routine will sing me
the sweet swallow's song
of my fingerprints,
and of how they
parallel the hearts
of everyone else.

I'm late, per usual.

I won't
believe what
the swallow sings,
nor will I
accept what
life brings

until I've blinked enough
to dissociate.

..