I have broken cups to bring to the rummage sale,
They come cheap off the highway.
Their chipped and worn clear through
Like the thin veneer I wear.
But their good for holding it all in.
I've dug holes filled with regret,
Misunderstanding,
All those sorry trips.
Soon it fades like a slippery dream.
Never blinking back the oncoming darkness.
Fathoming this wake
In the last of the flood.